


The Diary of Millie Jane Van Dahl

by Miss_Vile



Series: Life Begins Anew [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV), Gotham Academy (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arson, Blood and Injury, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Domestic Violence, Ed says there is no such thing as ghosts, Elijah had secrets, Established Relationship, Everyone loves Martin, He Was Wrong, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, Olga is a mobster now because I said so, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Sleep Paralysis, Suicide Attempt, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2020-05-15 21:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Vile/pseuds/Miss_Vile
Summary: Loosely inspired by "The Diary of Millie Jane Cobblepot" from the Batman Comics.Martin is adopted by Oswald and Edward and has inherited the Van Dahl estate and fortune while his parents are imprisoned. He discovers an old diary hidden under the floorboards of his bedroom. The words of the young teen- Millie Jane Van Dahl- inspire him to follow in the footsteps of his adoptive family and get his fathers out of prison. Or, at the very least, strengthen their empire from the outside.





	1. Martin Van Dahl

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance if any of the Russian is wrong.

It was another typical day at the Van Dahl estate. Edward was beginning to grow tired of scrubbing blood out of the floorboards.

 

“You can't keep doing this, Os.”

 

“It's not like it matters anymore.” Oswald swallowed the last of his wine, “I'm going to prison anyway. Might as well enjoy myself while I can.”

 

Jim Gordon had been unable to secure their pardon. Not like he tried, the rat bastard. That boy-scout turned Commissioner wanted nothing more than to ruin _everything_ Oswald had worked so hard to achieve. The Iceberg Lounge was the new seat of Gotham's criminal underground and was _the_ place to be when the sun went down. He and Edward had settled into an equilibrium with one another following the events at the barricade. Confessions of love and lots of tip-toeing around their feelings eventually led them to a rather passionate and committed relationship.

 

It had only been five months since Gotham was reunited with the mainland. The last several weeks had been filled with overnight stays at the GCPD bullpen, mandated court dates, and news reporters trying to break into the estate in order to get an exclusive interview with the infamous duo. Oswald, of course, had had enough. He tossed the small statuette to the floor. The blood was already starting to dry. Ed sighed.

 

“Don't tell me you've already given up hope.”

 

“I hired Harvey Dent. If he can't help us, no one can.”

 

“Well murdering every low-life that comes within ten feet of you doesn't give him much to work with.” Ed deposited the bronze statue into a plastic trash bag. _No murder weapon or body, no crime._ He thought. He would have to slip Olga a sizable tip and ask her to dispose of it along with the gruesome contents of the cooler currently stashed away in the freezer. Speaking of which, where was she? She was supposed to have been home ages ago-

 

The front door opened. Edward smiled.

 

“Ugh! What is it now?” Oswald said through gritted teeth as he stood up.

 

“I am a thing you cannot choose. You're stuck with what you've got.” He took a step closer to Oswald who was glaring daggers at him. He was clearly not in the mood for riddles, “But I am a thing that you can lose. For granted take me not. What am I?” Edward was standing in front of him now. Oswald shifted his weight on his cane.

 

“Family.”

 

“Correct.” Ed smiled and then clapped his hands theatrically. Olga appeared from the foyer carrying a suitcase and, beside her, was a young boy with hazel-brown eyes and curly hair.

 

“Martin?” Oswald gasped, his eyes lined in red. He had dropped his cane.

 

The boy ran to him and practically knocked the Penguin over with his enthusiastic hug.

 

“How? Wha- You're so _big!_ ” Oswald buried his face in the boy's hair, “Who gave you permission to grow up?”

 

Martin beamed. He missed the Penguin. He missed his praise. His admiration. His guidance.

 

“You beautiful man.” Oswald stared at Ed adoringly, “How did you find him? I thought you sent him to an orphanage in Metropolis.”

 

Martin made a face and then shook his head. Uh oh... Had Mister Riddler not told him?

 

“I lied.” he sighed at the admission, “But, I knew you wanted to keep him safe so I never told you.”

 

“What? I don't understand. Where _did_ you take him?”

 

“Cardy Boarding School... Under the name Martin Van Dahl.”

 

Oswald's eyes were saucers, “How did you-”

 

“I found the adoption papers you had hidden in your desk and had them notarized. Apparently, Elijah Van Dahl made substantial annual donations to Cardy so it was easy to get him enrolled. Even at such a young age.”

 

Oswald's eyes danced around Ed's face as he processed the information Ed had just rapid-fired at him, “You mean to tell me that Martin is...” he choked on the words

 

“Your son. Has been for about two years now."

 

Oswald clenched his eyes shut and shook his head in disbelief.

 

“I'm sorry. I know I should have told you but you had far too much on your plate with everything involving Sofia and... well, the last year hasn't exactly been kind to any of us.”

 

“No. I suppose not.” Oswald gave a sad smile and then re-directed his attention to Martin who was waiting patiently at his father's side. Oswald hugged him again. Tears stinging his eyes. He ruffled the boy's hair and sighed, “So... I guess you'll be living with us now. I-Is that alright?” Oswald was nervous. Sure, on paper Martin was his son. But they hadn't seen one another in years. A lot can change in that amount of time. Especially since Oswald had foolishly entrusted his “Top Man” with the boy only to have him kidnapped and used as a pawn. Martin had every right to hate the man.

 

Martin looked around the room. His eyes fell on Olga, then Edward, and then back up to Oswald. He smiled and then nodded his head enthusiastically.

 

“Excellent.” Oswald smiled. Relieved, “Olga, can you help him pick out a room?”

 

“да.” She and the boy both climbed the stairs. She muttered some Russian at him as he ran around opening all the doors.

 

“I assume you brought him here for a reason.” Oswald finally spoke once he knew Martin was out of earshot.

 

“You were right when you said that there was a faction of Gotham that adores you. Their admiration and respect for you may keep you from an electric chair but it _won't_ save you from consecutive life sentences.” Ed handed Oswald his cane and walked him back over to the sofa in the sunroom, “But, if you show the public that you are a good man with a family, that might just convince a judge to give you a lighter sentence.”

 

Oswald's face went red, “You expect me to flaunt Martin around like some show dog?!”

 

That hadn't been what Edward intended. He opened his mouth to speak but Oswald was already too enraged to let him get a word in.

 

“Brilliant, Edward! _That's_ your master plan?” he spat angrily, “Make me look good for the papers by exploiting an innocent child! And then what?”

 

“I-”

 

“Is that the real reason you took him to that boarding school? So that you can just use him later? That's it, isn't it? You were going to use him as a bargaining chip against me, weren't you?” Oswald was vibrating from the perceived betrayal.

 

“No!” Ed yelled, “If I was going to do that, I wouldn't have bothered with the adoption papers! Calm down for _one second_ and let me explain.” Ed was starting to panic

 

Oswald was about to yell again but something about what Edward had been saying didn't add up. He furrowed his brow in confusion and thought about it for a moment. He blinked. No... it _still_ didn't make sense.

 

“Wait... You said you found the adoption papers in my desk.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _That_ desk.” he pointed down the hall towards where his office was

 

“Yes? I said that already” Ed was confused

 

“While Sofia was here.” He narrowed his gaze

 

Ed's eyes widened. He opened his mouth but couldn't formulate words fast enough.

 

“You mean to tell me that you got passed Sofia Falcone and her men just so you could rummage through my desk?” Oswald titled his head, “Why?”

 

“I was... getting to that.” Ed nervously adjusted his glasses, “Just... let me explain and it will all make sense.”

 

“Start talking.” The vein in his forehead was prominent

 

“When you told me about Martin and sent me after Victor Zsasz, I did some digging and found out that he frequented a night club in the East End. Apparently, Saturday night is Disco night.” He scoffed

 

“I remember you telling me that you dressed up as an old Polish woman in order to get the information out of him.” His nostrils flared, “I take it that was a lie too?”

 

“Yes... Well, no. Not exactly. I did dress up as an old Polish woman. I needed a disguise and that was what I had available.” Ed rolled his eyes, “Unfortunately, I didn't find Zsasz there.”

 

“Where was he?” he asked

 

“In an alley. He knew I was following him and cornered me.”

 

Oswald's eyes widened. The idea that he could have gotten Edward killed that day filled him with guilt.

 

“Apparently, he had intended on rescuing Martin himself. But, Sofia suspected he might betray her and had been keeping a close eye on him. When I told him what you had planned, he didn't hesitate to give me his location and informed me about the papers in your desk.”

 

“Why would he do that?”

 

Ed shrugged, “He said he felt guilty and that he didn't want to be responsible for the death of a child.”

 

“God, and I almost had him executed.” Oswald slumped over and rubbed at his eyes. He breathed in but he couldn't stop the flood of tears that started streaming down his face. They were tears of frustration, relief, regret, and much more, “So, why did you change the plan? Why did you lie?”

 

“Honestly... it's because I spent time with him.” Ed chuckled, “I bought him some ice cream and we talked. He was so... _smart_. Cunning, really. I got attached.”

 

“He has that effect on people, doesn't he?”

 

“He does.” He smiled, “So, I came back here and stole the papers. Had them notarized at gunpoint and then arranged for him to be enrolled at Cardy. I used some of the money I stole from the bank to pay for his room and board, textbooks, and anything else he could possibly need. I paid it all up front- along with a little extra to ensure his teachers kept their mouths shut.”

 

“Ed... I really cannot thank you enough.” he hitched his breath as he choked back more tears

 

Edward wiped tears away with the pad of his thumb. That ever-present look of fondness on his face. Oswald smiled and then leaned in for a kiss.

 

Meanwhile, Martin was bounding around upstairs. He was going to have his very own room! He shared a room with two other boys at school. One of them snored and Martin had contemplated stabbing him in the throat with a pencil while he slept.

 

Martin flung open the doors to several fully furnished bedrooms. Wow, there are a lot of rooms! Olga, the woman who had been in the limo with him, was muttering behind him. Every time he didn't pick a room, she sighed and continued carrying his bags. Finally, Martin opened the door to a room with a large window. It was bright. Lots of natural light. You could see the yard past the back terrace and the woods behind the mansion from here. Something about this room in particular made him feel... at home? He couldn't quite explain what he was feeling. He flung himself on the bed and sank into the downy pillows. He felt like he was on a cloud.

 

“You like this vun, да?” Olga spoke with a thick accent.

 

Martin nodded his head.

 

“Хорошо.” She set his bags down, “You are hungry?”

 

Martin nodded again.

 

“I make pancakes.” She smiled.

 

He liked Olga. She reminded him of his piano teacher at school. Part of him was going to miss school. Namely music class and math. Both were things he was skilled at. He had developed a liking for the piano after Mister Riddler had told him that he enjoyed playing. He wanted to learn so he could show him when he came to visit... but he never came. And Mister Penguin never visited either. Though, now he understood why.

 

Martin's chest tightened when he heard The Penguin yelling downstairs. He had seemed so happy to see him a moment ago. What could have happened? Martin didn't want to eavesdrop but Mister Riddler was starting to yell now. Both of their voices were getting louder and louder. It made his ears ring. Martin gulped and then slowly descended the stairs. By the time he had reached the room where the two men were seated on the sofa, they were no longer yelling. But, Martin was still worried.

 

He rounded the corner and gawked at them as they kissed. _Gross!_ Martin made a face and then knocked on the wooden frame of the doorway to get their attention. Startled, they both pulled away from each other and giggled. Martin would have laughed too but the look on Mister Penguin's face made him sad. The Penguin had been crying. His gloves were wet and his eyes were red and swollen. Did Mister Riddler make Mister Penguin cry? He was starting to hyperventilate. Memories flashed at the corner of his vision. His right hand had a slight tremor. He saw a man with bouldered fists. A woman with curly hair like his drinking amber liquid from a bottle. A box of matches he found in the kitchen. The fire. Screaming but there was no sound.

 

“Martin?” Oswald noticed the dazed look on the boy's face. He almost looked scared. His eyes rapidly darting back and forth between the two men.

 

Edward seemed to understand and knelt down in front of him, “Don't worry. Oswald was upset, but we weren't fighting. Everything is alright now.”

 

Martin visibly relaxed. _That's good_ , he thought. He gave a crooked little smile. Why was Mister Penguin crying though? He looked over at the man on the sofa. He was shaking his head and staring at the floor. He was muttering something under his breath. Martin frowned. He wrote on his notepad.

 

_He doesn't want me here._

 

Oswald heard Martin uncap his pen and watched him as he wrote. He could see the scribbled note over Ed's shoulder. He practically knocked Ed over when he flung his arms around his son.

 

“Of course I want you here!” He squeezed him tightly, “I am so, _so_ happy that you are here, Martin. Trust me, you aren't the reason I was upset.”

 

Martin drew a question mark in the air.

 

“He's upset because I lied to him.” Ed said, “I told him I sent you away to an orphanage in another city and that you were adopted by a nice family in the suburbs.”

 

Martin rolled his eyes and slapped himself on the forehead.

 

“I know. Pretty dumb, right?” Ed chuckled

 

Martin nodded. He scrunched his brow for a moment and then wrote on his notepad.

 

_What about my letters?_

 

“Letters?” Oswald asked

 

Martin nodded his head. Slowly, he and the Penguin turned and glared at Edward.

 

“Crud.”

 

“Edward Nygma, you better have those letters stashed away somewhere or so help me you will be sleeping on the floor with the dog!” His voice raised. As did his blood pressure.

 

“I kept the first few and was waiting for the right moment to give them to you!” he exclaimed, “The others were intercepted and kept in a lock box when Gotham was separated from the mainland.”

 

“I want them.”

 

“Of course you do.” He pinched the bridge of his nose

 

Oswald shot him a look, “Well, go on. Go get them.”

 

“Wha- Right now?”

 

“Yes! Right now!” He yelled. Startling the boy. Though, this time he wasn't afraid. He found the whole exchange amusing, “Consider it penance.”

 

* * *

 

Martin rubbed at his stomach. He'd over-eaten but the pancakes Olga made for him were so good! The food at boarding school was expensive and over-seasoned. He hadn't been allowed many sweets. Mister Penguin was sitting next to him with a big smile on his face. Martin felt silly for thinking that The Penguin hadn't wanted him.

 

 _I missed you._ He wrote

 

“I missed you as well, my boy.” Oswald looked sad again, “I'm sorry I had to send you away... I didn't want you to get hurt again. Of course, Victor ended up betraying me. He put you in danger and I got sent to Arkham.” he grumbled

 

_He told me he was sorry._

 

“Well, 'sorry' isn't good enough. You could have been-” He stopped, “Well... you're safe now. I'm just grateful that Ed came to me when he did and was able to save you.”

 

Martin made a face and then held the notepad close to him. Oswald waited while he finished his drawing. When he turned it around, Oswald couldn't help but laugh. It was of him and Edward kissing.

 

“Yes. Edward and I are... together.” he smiled, “Do we have your blessing?”

 

_Do you love him?_

 

“Yes, Martin. I love him very much.”

 

_Does he hurt you?_

 

Oswald blanched. It was true that they had hurt each other in the past. They had come very close to killing one another but he hadn't told Martin about that. At least none of the details. He considered lying but Martin was incredibly bright for a ten-year-old. After a moment's contemplation, he found the words.

 

“Edward and I have both hurt each other. There is no denying that. In our line of work, it sort of comes with the territory. We have done things and said things that we both regret. But, we have learned from those mistakes and have become better people since then. We've learned to love and allow ourselves to be loved in return- which is something we didn't know how to do before.” he smiled, “It's good enough for me. Is it good enough for you?”

 

Martin smiled and nodded his head.

 

Edward had been watching the exchange from around the corner- Martin's letters clutched to his chest. Oswald possessed a silver tongue. He always seemed to know precisely the right thing to say. He was grateful for his eidetic memory so he could replay this moment over and over again for days to come. Hearing him tell Martin how in love he was made him feel like he was floating.

 

Later that evening, Edward and Oswald explained their unfortunate situation to Martin. They tried to be as delicate as they could, but Martin hadn't taken it well. When Oswald told him that it was very likely that they would all have to be separated again, the boy had crawled into his lap and cried. Oswald had never seen him cry like that before and it broke his heart. Ed's too.

 

Harvey Dent arrived shortly after. He had pulled Ed and Oswald into a side room to discuss court proceedings and how they were each going to approach their cases. He had advised Ed to plead insanity since there was certainly _plenty_ of evidence to support it. Ed agreed though he didn't like the idea of getting stuck in Arkham again. But he disliked the idea of Death Row even more- something he was almost guaranteed if he ended up in prison. Oswald's case was more complicated. He was looking at serving upwards of fifty years at Blackgate.

 

Martin had been listening through the door.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Dent. We can continue our discussion-” Oswald opened the door to his office. The force of which knocked Martin to the floor. His forehead was bruised, “Martin!” He pulled the boy close, “I'm so sorry! Are you alright?”

 

“Who is this?” Harvey asked

 

“Oh... This is...” Oswald cleared his throat, “My son. Martin.”

 

Martin held a hand to his forehead and one out towards the dark-haired lawyer. Harvey shook his hand.

 

“It's nice to meet you, Martin.” he smiled and then looked over at the Penguin, “I didn't know you had a son.”

 

Martin suddenly had an idea.

 

He flung himself towards the lawyer and burst into tears. He had a death grip on the man's suit.

 

“Whoa! What's wrong, little guy?” Harvey asked

 

Martin pulled away and reached for his notepad but it wasn't around his neck. He had left it on the table. He looked up at the other man and started signing. It was something he had learned at school, though he wasn't sure anyone in the room actually understood it.

 

“He saying _Don't let bad men take his family avay._ ” Olga translated.

 

“You know sign language?” Oswald's eyes were wide with surprise

 

“да”

 

“Why didn't you mention that before?” he asked

 

“You never asked.” She shrugged

 

Martin started signing again while Olga translated.

 

“He says he loves his father. His other family vas mean to him. They yelled and hit him...” Olga frowned, “But Mister Penguin is kind. Mister Riddler also. They vud never hurt him or each other. They are good men. Please keep dem safe.”

 

“Alright. I'll do everything that I can. I promise.” Harvey shook his hand again.

 

“Mr. Dent.” Oswald took a step forward. Almost too close, “Do not make promises to my son if you do not intend on keeping them.”

 

“I assure you, Mr. Cobblepot, I do intend to keep it.” Harvey gave Oswald a look that told him that he meant every word, “I'll see you at the courthouse tomorrow.”

 

Harvey was a sucker for kids and the fact that Oswald Cobblepot was a father changed things. It made the case more interesting and gave him leverage to work with. He might even be able to reduce the sentence to only ten years if the jury and judge could be swayed.

 

As he made his way to the front door of the Van Dahl estate, he felt a shiver creep down his spine. He stopped and looked around the room. Something about this old house made him uncomfortable. It was like someone was always watching him. And, whatever it was, it didn't like him. He was starting to develop an odd fondness for Oswald Cobblepot but he was looking forward to never having to come back to this mansion for any reason.

 

“Martin? Are you alright?” Oswald rubbed circles on his back.

 

When they all heard the sound of the front door closing, Martin suddenly stopped crying. His face was completely neutral. He turned to his father and winked.

 

“You sly dog!” Oswald beamed, ruffling the boy's hair.

 

“Told you it would work.” Ed smirked. He high-fived Martin. _Kid's got good instincts!_

 

“You were right.” Oswald smiled

 

“I usually am.” He pulled Oswald into a kiss, completely ignoring the other two people in the room.

 

Martin made a face.

 

“непристойный” Olga's face mimicked Martin's. She couldn't help but chuckle.

 

* * *

 

Martin was exhausted. After Oswald came in to wish him goodnight, it wasn't long before he had fallen asleep. His dreams were filled with Mister Penguin and Mister Riddler. Olga's pancakes... and a distant screaming.

 

Martin was in a long hallway. It was hot. So humid he could barely breathe. There were people strapped to beds with leather straps. Some had large metal vices around their heads. They were all wearing black and white striped clothes. He looked down and saw that he was wearing the same thing. A door opened at the end of the hallway. He ran. The other people reached out for him and screamed. They pulled at his arms and legs but he managed to get outside.

 

He turned around and saw his old house. Blue shutters and peeling paint. It was on fire. He knew that his mother and father were drunk and passed out somewhere in the blaze. He didn't care if the fire killed them. He just wanted them to go away. He looked down at himself and saw that he was still wearing the strange clothes...

 

He woke up and found that he couldn't move. He felt like something was sitting on his chest. He could see something out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't turn his head but he could at least look towards the shadowy figure at the foot of his bed.

 

It was a girl. She was only a little older than he was. Her clothes were really old looking. A black dress with lots of lace and a white collar. Her hair was shiny and black. She had the same color eyes and hooked nose as Mister Penguin. She was pointing to a spot on the floor. Martin stared at it and saw that the floorboard looked like it might be loose.

 

Martin looked back at the girl but saw that a taller and scarier looking woman was behind her. Everything about her was pale and white except her eyes. Her eyes were red. She looked angry. Her mouth unhinged and she let out a blood-curdling scream. Suddenly, the bed was on fire. Martin could feel the flames dancing on his skin. He opened his mouth and...

 

He screamed.

 

It wasn't often that he was able to produce any sound. He screamed until the back of his throat was hoarse. The door to his room flung open. Mister Penguin had crawled onto the bed and was holding him tightly. Mister Riddler had a pistol in his hand. After looking around the room and realizing that Martin had just had a nightmare, he tucked it away.

 

“Shh... It's alright. You're safe.” Oswald cooed, “Did you have a nightmare?”

 

Martin nodded his head. He was still shaking. That last part didn't feel like a dream. It had been too real. His eyes were fixated on that loose floorboard.

 

“Do you want to stay with us tonight?” Edward asked.

 

He shook his head No. He didn't want to be a burden. Besides, he really wanted to know what that girl was pointing at.

 

The two men wished him sweeter dreams and left him in his room. He waited until he heard their door close down the hall before creeping out of bed. He tapped his foot along the floor until the board he was looking for squeaked. It took him a moment to pry away the boards. With only the moonlight helping him to see, he reached in. Wrapped in an old cloth was a small leather book. He blew years worth of dust away from it and coughed. He opened it and read the words on the inside cover.

 

_This diary belongs to Millie Jane Van Dahl_

 


	2. Ghosts Aren't Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only read small tidbits of Gotham Academy so I will likely deviate faaaar away from established canon and characters. I'm approaching this more from the perspective of how I think the Gotham TV show would've handled the GA storyline... more or less. This fic is still, by and large, a Gotham fic that focuses on Nygmobblepot and their son Martin. Because, if FOX won't give us our Penguin spinoff, I might as well write one.

The day of Oswald's final court date had arrived. Nearly a month of planning and strategizing had all led up to this. Martin only hoped that the part he played had made a difference. Mister Riddler seemed to think so. Though, Mister Penguin was less than enthusiastic about having Martin participate in it. He said it felt wrong and like it was some kind of violation of the relationship they had. He said that he was fine with Martin 'learning the ropes' but this felt more like using him. He said it was demeaning and wasted Martin's potential.

 

Martin, if groomed properly, could one day grow up to be the sharpest knife in the criminal underground. Oswald lamented the fact that neither he nor Edward would be there to guide him on that journey. At least not directly. Oswald had plans... so to speak.

 

“Martin...” Oswald's tone was serious, “You and I both know that, despite Harvey Dent's valiant efforts, I will likely have to... go away... for a while. Maybe a long while.”

 

Martin nodded his head.

 

“If and when that inevitably happens, I need you to be my eyes and ears on the outside. Do you think you can do that for me?”

 

 _Yes_ , he signed.

 

“That's my boy.” Oswald pulled him close and kissed his forehead. He pulled something from his jacket pocket and placed it in the boy's hand, “Here. A gift.”

 

It was a knife. Aged patina. Stag antler handle that was worn with age. It felt velvety in his palm. It was heavy for a folding knife which meant it was probably expensive.

 

“Fish gave me this knife.” he smiled at the memory, “I want you to have it.”

 

Martin clutched it to his chest.

 

“Just don't tell Ed that I gave it to you.” Oswald rolled his eyes. He was likely going to be in jail before the day was through, he didn't want to spend the last precious moments he had with Edward arguing over the dangers of gifting a knife to a ten-year-old.

 

* * *

 

Edward was inconsolable. He had broken nearly every mirror in the house. He kept pulling at his hair and screaming at figures that weren't there.

 

Normally, those kinds of outbursts would have frightened Martin. Loud noises and _especially_ breaking glass triggered something in him. Gave him flashbacks and made his limbs tremble. But, this was different. Mister Riddler wasn't directing that anger at him. No... it looked like he was angry with himself. He had allowed himself to believe that Harvey Dent could perform miracles. That somehow all of this would just blow over and they would figure out a way out of this situation. But, in the end, Mister Penguin received twenty years at Blackgate.

 

Edward was slumped against a wall in the hallway. Blood all over his hands from all of the smashed glass. He was sobbing on the floor. Martin brought him his glasses and rubbed circles on the taller man's back- just like Mister Penguin did for him when he was sad.

 

“I didn't... even get to say goodbye to him!” he cried, “They wouldn't let me see him... They just... _took him away_...”

 

After the verdict was given, Oswald was quickly surrounded on all sides and escorted to a side room where he was detained. Edward had leaped over the bench he was sitting at in an attempt to reach Oswald. Jim Gordon intervened.

 

“Ed, calm down!” Jim put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, his other hand on the gun in his holster.

 

“Calm down?! How can you even say that? Twenty years, Jim! After all we've been through? After all he's done for this city?!” he cried, “How could you? How could you let this happen?”

 

“My hands are tied, Ed.”

 

“You... You don't understand.” Edward's face contorted

 

“What don't I understand?”

 

“I love him, Jim.” he blurted out, “Please... just let me see him before they take him away.”

 

Jim's eyes widened. He wasn't at all surprised to hear that they were together. He'd suspected for a while- even teased Oswald about it. But hearing those words so blatantly from Edward had knocked the wind out of him, “I can't do that, Ed. I'm sorry.”

 

Everything after that point was a blur. He'd gone into another fugue state and didn't come back to until he was at the manor and screaming at his own reflection.

 

“God, I'm pathetic...” He breathed in a stuttering breath, trying desperately not to burst into tears again, “I should be the one consoling you.”

 

Martin considered it, but instead shook his head and wrote in his notepad.

 

_Father and I reached an understanding.  
I was already prepared._

 

He blinked at the words he had written before turning it around to show Mister Riddler. They looked strange... He had already thought of Mister Penguin as a father figure. Even before everything with Sofia went down. They had connected the moment they met. Kindred spirits. A shared inner darkness and delight in mischief. But, Mister Penguin was more than that. He was everything he could ever want in a father. He had just never used the word before. Well, unless he was trying to manipulate someone.

 

He wasn't trying to manipulate Mister Riddler, however.

 

Edward hitched a breath. It seemed he was just as taken aback by the word as he was, “That's... that's good. I'm glad he spoke with you.” he sighed, “Did he also tell you that Olga would be your legal guardian while he's... away?” Ed choked on that last word

 

_What about you?_

 

“What about me?” Ed asked

 

_You could be my guardian._

 

“Yeeeeah, no. I'm definitely going to rot in a cell at Arkham, kid. Sorry.”

 

Martin gasped.

 

_There HAS to be something we can do._

 

“I wish there was.” he scoffed. He'd given up hope now that Oswald was gone.

 

_Father told me what they do to people in that place. I don't want you to get hurt. :(_

 

Edward couldn't help but chuckle, “That doesn't make sense. Why would you care about what happened to me?”

 

Martin was genuinely confused. Adults were odd.

 

_Because you're my dad too._

 

Edward's eyes widened. He took the notebook out of Martin's hands and examined it closer- as if he thought the words written there were somehow an illusion. He looked up at Martin. Then back to the notepad. Then back to Martin. Edward adjusted his glasses.

 

“I... You... Martin, I'm flattered you think that.” He handed the notepad back to Martin with a sad smile. When he didn't say anything else, Martin wrote again.

 

_Do you not want to be my dad?_

 

“That's... _oh boy._ ” He gave a nervous chuckle, “That's not what I meant. I just... my father... Umm..he wasn't kind to me. He hurt me and my mother. And, based on what I've observed so far, I'm guessing that is something you can empathize with?”

 

Martin nodded his head.

 

“I've always been afraid of becoming just like him... I pushed the idea of ever having children far out of my mind. Truthfully, I don't even like kids.”

 

Martin made a face.

 

“But I like you!” he corrected, “It's just... _scary_. Being a father is scary.”

 

 _Being alone is scarier._ He wrote

 

Edward opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. Suddenly, his anger from earlier turned into something more distressful. This brilliant child who was wearing such a brave face and currently comforting a slobbery mess of a man on the floor... was _scared_. He knew he was going to be alone. Oswald was gone. For twenty years! Hell, it was likely he would _die_ in prison knowing the kinds of enemies he's made throughout the years. The thought made Edward sick to his stomach. And now this same child thought of _him_ as a father as well... and he was likely going to receive a life sentence at an insane asylum!

 

“Is that what you want? For me to be your father too?”

 

Martin was hesitant. He nodded his head slowly.

 

Edward wrapped his arms around him. Before they knew it... they were both crying. Their sobs filling every vacant crack in the old mansion.

 

* * *

 

Weeks poured over into months and everything was so... _boring_. Unbearably so. Olga wasn't the worst guardian ever but she wasn't one to partake in academic conversation. She certainly didn't like riddles. Though, she did start teaching him some Russian. Which was nice. He liked learning a new language. He especially enjoyed learning Cyrillic script! It was like decoding a cipher which kept him busy late at night when he couldn't sleep.

 

His night terrors persisted. And, without his fathers there to console him when he woke up in the night screaming, he found himself unable to cope. Olga had been there, sure, but it wasn't at all the same.

 

More disturbing, however, was the fact that his nightmarish visions were following him out into the waking world. At first he thought that maybe he was hallucinating because of sleep deprivation. But, even after a good nights rest, he still saw that girl or the red-eyed woman staring at him from the edge of the woods outside his window. He considered telling Olga and maybe even ask for a doctor.

 

In preparation for his dad's insanity plea, Harvey Dent had suggested he see a therapist. Martin thought she was nice. She was young and had a bubbly personality. She had a weird name though. Quinzel, if he recalled correctly. His dad had benefited from it. His outbursts were less frequent and he wasn't randomly shouting at the dark corners of the room. It made Martin wonder if his dad would see the strange girl too...

 

He had shown his dad the book he had found under the floorboards. He even reluctantly mentioned how his nightmares had been about the strange girl who he believed had written the book. His dad had just signed and assured him, “Ghosts aren't real.” as if that would magically make the visions cease. His dad always held onto logic and reason like a security blanket. Martin was attempting to do the same but that was becoming harder and harder to do as the days flew by. He didn't exactly have the same resilience that an adult did and Martin's imagination was beginning to run away with him.

 

Martin had built some crude scaffolding out of a desk, a chair, and some precariously stacked books so that he could reach the top shelf of the library. He had read a lot of the ones lower on the shelf but wanted to learn more about the abandoned ones left to collect dust at the top. To his dismay, nothing in particular piqued his interest. They were all mostly outdated copies of encyclopedias. He was just about to step down from his makeshift tower when something caught his eye in the far corner. He reached out for it and sent it and a book clamoring to the floor. He followed shortly thereafter.

 

Just as his face was about to meet the checkerboard tile, someone caught him. He looked up expecting to see Olga. Instead, it was a familiar looking man. He was older than either of his fathers. His hair was greying and combed back out of his face. His maroon suit looked expensive. Martin couldn't quite place where he had seen him.

 

“You must be careful.” he smiled fondly, “Use the ladder next time.”

 

Martin turned and saw that there was, in fact, a ladder at the far end of the bookshelf. He huffed. He turned back around to ask the man who he was... but he was gone. Martin furrowed his brow in confusion. He hadn't heard any footsteps and he certainly didn't remember Olga saying anything about having guests over that day.

 

His eyes landed on the object that had fallen. It looked like a small wooden book. Martin opened the latch and gawked at what he saw. It was a photograph. It looked like it was printed on metal. It was of a young girl with shiny black hair and a hooked nose. She was surrounded by flowers and looked like she was sleeping.

 

 _Millie Jane!_ He thought. But then the color drained from his face, _No... Ghosts aren't real._

 

He looked up at the painting that hung over the fireplace and recognized the face of Elijah Van Dahl- the same man who he had just been speaking with. Who had just saved him from falling and cracking his head open like an egg in the library. _Ghosts aren't real. Ghosts aren't real. Ghosts. Aren't. Real..._

 

* * *

 

“Vat is problem?” Olga asked over dinner

 

_I'm tired._

 

“You alvays tired.” She raised an eyebrow

 

_Very tired._

 

“You go to bed after dinner. Big day tomorrow. Get to see Mr. Cobblepot.” She smiled

 

Martin's face brightened. He was _finally_ getting to see his father for the first time in several months! Apparently, they wanted him to get settled before they allowed visitors. Especially young visitors. He was so filled with excitement he didn't even want to finish his dinner. He wanted it to be morning already.

 

After dinner, he rushed upstairs to prepare for bed. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and even threw on the purple robe he'd stolen from his father's room. It's not like he was using it right now anyway so he didn't think he'd mind. He was just about to hop into bed when he noticed the items he'd thrown there after the strange encounter in the library. He hadn't forgotten about them, necessarily. But a part of him had honestly hoped it had all been some kind of weird dream.

 

He opened the frame and examined the photograph. There was no doubt that this was the same girl he had been seeing around the house. That couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Maybe he had been reading too many scary stories. He looked over at the stack of books he'd read over the last month- _Frankenstein, The Woman in Black_ , and _The Haunting of Hill House_ being some of his favorites. He tried using logic as an armour like his dad but no amount of rational thinking could take the edge off of what he knew to be true. The ghost of Millie Jane was real and she was trying to tell him something.

 

Next to the photograph were the two books he had haphazardly thrown onto the bed- the diary he'd found under the floorboards and an old leather book that had fallen from the shelf in the library titled _The Book of Old Gotham_. The diary of Millie Jane lay open on a rather peculiar entry. Millie Jane had written about odd occurrences and of strange meetings she had witnessed around the Van Dahl mansion. Just as it was getting interesting, Millie Jan wrote about how she was going to be sent to Arkham Asylum. Shortly after that, all of her entries were... strange. Words were jumbled and certain phrases seemed to repeat out of sequence. He assumed that the doctors must have done something to her. He shivered at the thought of his dad locked away in such a place.

 

He shook away the thought and brought his attention back to the diary. It was the first entry she had written after being sent away to the asylum. Something about it just didn't seem right. As he thumbed through the pages, he noticed something odd in the corner. There was something written there... old and faded. Martin leaned in closer to try and make out the letters. The page vaguely smelled of lemon.

 

His eyes widened. He took the page to the nearest lightbulb. After a few moments of heating the page, light brown letters started to appear.

 

_AMITY_

 

What was _that_ supposed to mean? He looked at the letters written there and then back to the diary entry. Oh! It was a type of keyword cipher! He'd read about them in a book on codes and ciphers he'd found in his dad's study. She had written in code!

 

Martin eagerly deciphered as many pages as he could- completely losing track of the time. None of that mattered now! He was finally going to uncover the secrets of Millie Jane's diary.

 

Millie Jane was thirteen when she died. She had discovered that the Van Dahl family had many secrets buried within the estate. Most notably was that there was a series of secret passageways hidden throughout the mansion. They used these secret rooms and corridors to conduct below-board dealings and smuggle antiquities. Apparently, the Van Dahl's were more than just tailors. Her father had been Mayor Theodore Van Dahl. Apparently, much like his own adoptive father, he had a hand in the criminal underground while also ruling Gotham's political landscape. Millie, who had denounced her family's activities, had brought a scandal upon the Van Dahl family. She told the police about the strange people who visited her house late at night and even suggested that her family had something to do with a series of fires that had devastated much of Gotham. Her parents, of course, sent her to Arkham for her delusions and claimed she was an arsonist.

 

She had managed to escape the asylum and hid her diary under the floorboards of her bedroom. In her final entry, she lamented that she was not long for this world because melancholy was overtaking her.

 

The final pages of the book were blank except the faint outline of something drawn in invisible ink. Martin heated the pages just like he did before and saw that it was a map. Millie Jane had explored and mapped out all of the secret passageways throughout the mansion.

 

Martin slowly opened the door to his bedroom. He could hear Olga snoring down the hall. As quietly as he could, he crept down the stairs and to the fireplace that his father frequently sat by. He ran his hands along the engraved wood until he found what he was looking for. He could feel the air shift slightly around a small orb and pressed. It took some effort, but he managed to push the button until he heard a distinctive 'click' and then a 'pop' as a hidden panel opened up beside the fireplace.

 

Martin couldn't contain his smile. He'd solved a puzzle! It was all so exciting. He heard a low rumble behind him that caused him to drop his flashlight. He turned and saw Edward the dog happily wagging his tail.

 

“Shh!” He held a finger to his lips. Edward the Dog whined. Martin peered around the corner of the long dark corridor. According to the map, there should be a set of stairs down the long hallway that branched off into a series of rooms. His imagination ran wild as he thought about the kinds of things he might find. How many _literal_ skeletons were left down there? He gulped and then looked over to his animal companion. He whistled and the dog followed.

 

Martin continued down the narrow corridor until he came to a circular room. It wasn't a large room, by any means. But certainly larger than Martin would have expected to find tucked away behind a secret passageway.

 

It was covered in cobwebs and dust blanketed every surface. Martin had to suppress a cough. He walked around the room and, much to his surprise, found it mostly empty. There were bookshelves but they were all empty. Not even a piece of paper remained. At the center of the room was a large oak table. It looked like there used to be a bunch of chairs that sat around it. Martin wondered if this room used to be some kind of secret meeting place. He would definitely have to show his father when he came home! Martin shined the flashlight and... Oh. That was strange.

 

Martin shined the light at the statue at the center of the table and watched as it illuminated the room. A map he only sort of recognized was projected on one the walls. Upon further examination, he recognized several notable landmarks around Gotham City. Many of them had symbols over them. Maybe there was buried treasure? Martin enjoyed stories about pirates and fancied the idea of exploring deserted islands with buried secrets. He couldn't contain his excitement. He was going to have to visit his father and tell him all about Millie Jane, the ghosts, and the glass owl he found in the secret passageway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone that is curious: The knife Oswald gifts to Martin is a Hubertus hunting knife. It's the same knife Os uses in season 1... because I'm a nerd and I notice weird details like that. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. The Return of Old Enemies

Martin could not contain his excitement as he explained literally _everything_ that had happened the previous day. He gesticulated wildly and showed his father the diary. His curly hair bouncing around as he played an elaborate game of charades- stopping only to write something down when his father looked confused.

 

“You certainly have an active imagination.” Oswald finally spoke.

 

Martin made a face and then uncapped his pen.

 

_You don't believe me._

 

Oswald attempted to respond as delicately as he could, “I believe you. It's just... Well, you have gone through an awful lot recently.”

 

Martin sunk in his chair and pouted. Oswald couldn't help but feel guilty. He sighed and then flipped through the diary, humoring his son.

 

“Where did you say you found this?” he asked

 

_Under the floor in my room._

 

“That's right. Where the um... _ghost_ told you it would be.” Oswald clarified. Martin nodded his head and then lowered his gaze.

 

_You don't believe in ghosts?_

 

Oswald sighed. Once upon a time, he had. His mother had been a superstitious woman. She would often tell him fantastical stories about Ördög, Bába, and _especially_ Szépasszony. Oswald would always roll his eyes and dismiss them. He hadn't given much thought to ghosts and other odd occurrences until he started seeing the ghost of his father. Of course, that just turned out to be a trick. Though, for the life of him, he never could figure out how Ed had done it.

 

On one night, in particular, Oswald had seen his father's ghost in the parlor. It hadn't been like any of the other encounters. Elijah Van Dahl was sitting in his chair and reading. He hadn't even looked up or noticed Oswald staring at him. He blinked and then the man was gone. When Oswald had asked Ed about that moment in particular and why he had sent his associate there that day, Ed had seemed confused.

 

Oswald reread the words on Martin's notepad. He wasn't sure how to answer. If he told him that he didn't believe in ghosts, it would upset his son. If he said that he did then he would just be playing along with the fantasy and feeding delusions. While he pondered, a folded piece of paper that had been tucked away in the diary fell to the floor. His eyes widened when he read the words on the paper.

 

“The Court of...” _Owls._ Oswald refrained from saying that last part out loud. He swallowed hard. He read over the paper. It was one of the pages Martin had decrypted. Apparently, Millie Jane had discovered the identity of the secret society her father had been a member of and had attempted to reveal them to the police. The Van Dahl's had been members for generations.

 

This whole situation just became a lot more serious. He would not have his son getting involved with the Court of Owls.

 

“Have you shown this to anyone else?” he waved the folded note in his hand

 

Martin shook his head.

 

“Even Olga?”

 

He shook his head again.

 

“Good.” He handed the book and the decrypted note back to Martin, “Take this home with you. Don't let anyone see it. And _burn_ it.”

 

Martin made a face.

 

“I mean it, Martin.” he narrowed his gaze, “This isn't like one of those videogames you and Ed played. You could seriously get hurt!” Oswald tried not to yell too loudly. He didn't want to ruin their visit.

 

Martin worried his lip. He didn't like how his father still treated him like a child. Sure, he was only ten but he had seen people die! He was mature enough to handle this. He would just have to make his father see that.

 

“Martin, you mustn't tell anyone about this. _Especially_ not Edward.”

 

_Why?_

 

“Because he would obsess over it!” he flailed, “He'll go crazy trying to solve the mystery from the confines of his cell. I won't have it! He's supposed to be working on his... _rehabilitation._ ” Oswald spat that last word out like bad goulash.

 

Martin put his pen to the paper but Oswald placed a hand over it, preventing him from writing any further, “This is the last time we discuss this. For _both_ our sakes.” He slowly lifted his hand from the notepad.

 

_I won't tell Dad about it. Promise._

 

“....Did you... Did you just call Edward _dad_?”

 

Martin blinked and then stared at the paper. Oh yeah...

 

_He said it was okay._

 

“He did?”

 

Martin nodded

 

“That's... wow. Alright then.” He smiled fondly. Suddenly unable to speak. He cleared his throat, “Um... How are your studies? I assume you approve of your new tutor.”

 

_I like being homeschooled! Mister Lark is a good teacher._

 

“That's good to hear! Are you sure you wouldn't rather go to school with other students your age? I know how lonely it can be.”

 

Martin grimaced, _I don't like other kids._

 

“Why is that?”

 

_They're all stupid._

 

Oswald laughed, “You sound like Ed.”

 

Martin smiled. Partly because of the compliment and partly because of the look on his father's face.

 

“Five minutes.” The guard told them

 

His father glared. If circumstances had been different, the man would have had a knife in his gut. Oswald gritted his teeth. Martin stared at the floor.

 

“There there...” Oswald placed a hand on Martin's shoulder, “We'll get to see one another again soon. Besides, Harvey Dent and I have been talking. He says that it is very possible that I will be out of here before you know it.” It wasn't _technically_ a lie. He wanted to give the boy something to look forward to.

 

After their visit was over, Martin crawled into the back of the limo where Olga was waiting. She had asked him how his visit had gone but all Martin could do was give a sad smile. Olga didn't want to pressure him so refrained from asking any more questions. Martin was grateful for that and clutched the diary to his chest. He prayed his father wouldn't realize that he hadn't actually promised to destroy it.

 

* * *

 

The doors to the visitation room clanged and locked. The violent echo of metal on metal reverberated through the halls of Arkham Asylum. It was both the angriest and loneliest sound.

 

“What do you want?” Ed asked, completely unamused by the appearance of the man seated in front of him

 

“Nice to see you too, Ed.” Lucius smirked. Ed glared, “I'm just checking up on you.”

 

Edward laughed at that, “Come on, _Foxy_. You know I can tell when you're lying.”

 

“I'm not lying. This is no different than last time.”

 

It was true that, aside from Oswald, Lucius had been the only other person to visit him at Arkham during his first stay. Edward thought it had been odd and assumed there was some ulterior motive. Though, he never discovered one. He thought that maybe Lucius had planned on getting revenge after that little game he played with him and Bruce Wayne. But nothing ever came of it. Just a mild threat of poisoning later at the GCPD forensics lab that one time.

 

“And why did you? Visit me, that is.”

 

“I already told you why.”

 

“You expect me to believe that you honestly cared about little ol' me?”

 

“Ed...” Lucius leaned forward, “I don't think you're as bad of a person as you seem to think you are.”

 

Ed was nervously chewing the inside of his cheek. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be in that room and he didn't want to have to listen to whatever dribble Foxy had to say.

 

“People in your condition are more likely to be abused than they are to be the abusers.” he said

 

“My _condition?_ ” Ed spat. He hated that word.

 

“You're sick, Ed.” Lucius stated. His words blunted.

 

“You don't think I know that?” His voice was cold. Ed hadn't meant for the words to be said aloud. His mile-long diagnosis was a constant mantra in the back of his mind. _Chronic Psychogenic Amnesia caused by Dissociative Identity Disorder. Histrionic Personality Disorder. C-PTSD. Manic Depression. Severe Anxiety. Drug Addiction..._

 

“I know you do. Which is why I want you to hear me out.”

 

“...I'm listening.”

 

“I never resented you or even blamed you for the things Hugo Strange made you do. He manipulated you. He took advantage of you just like so many people before him. That's why I decided to visit you. To let you know that you weren't alone.”

 

“So all of this was just out of the goodness of your heart?” he gave a contemptuous smirk, “How sentimental.”

 

“Ed, not everyone is out to get you. There are people who care about you. I care. Penguin cares. Jim Gordon cares-”

 

“Jim Gordon doesn't care about anyone but himself!” Ed was standing now. Palms pressed firmly on the table, “He uses people and then discards them when he thinks they might stain his reputation. He tricked Oswald into thinking they were friends. He let him take the fall for Theo Galavan and had him _taken away from me!_ Oswald was tortured and had his brain scrambled! He even told Jim! Begged him and asked for help but Jim was too much of a coward. And now, after everything we've done for him... after how far we've come... he stabs us in the back. Again. So don't you _dare_ try and feed me some lie that Jim Gordon gives a damn about me.”

 

Lucius swallowed and remained silent. It was no use trying to convince Ed that this had been the safest option. In Arkham he was less likely to be a harm to himself or to others. Gotham didn't need to suffer another Ed Nygma mental breakdown. Lucius knows there isn't anything he can say. Once Ed had made up his mind about something, there was no changing it. But, he was going to try anyway. He pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and slid it across the table towards Ed.

 

“What's this?” Ed asked

 

“A letter from Penguin.”

 

Edward's eyes widened as he scooped the letter up and tore into it. There was no denying the handwriting. It was definitely a letter from Oswald.

 

Ed slumped down in the chair and read it over and over again. The room had dissolved and suddenly it was as if he wasn't in Arkham anymore. The voices quieted. He almost forgot that Lucius was still sitting there.

 

“This is... _thank you._ ” He sucked in a breath to keep himself from crying, “I thought I wasn't allowed any sort of communication with Oswald.”

 

“That restrictions been lifted. Per my recommendation and Jim Gordon's request.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Your doctors have also agreed to allow you a day pass so that you can visit him. Under strict supervision, of course.”

 

“You'll let me _see_ Oswald?!” Ed stammered

 

“So long as you continue to improve, yes. Remaining in contact with your loved ones is part of your treatment.”

 

“And I take it Jim is responsible for that as well?”

 

“He might be.”

 

“Why would he do that?” Ed asked. The memory of the words _“I considered you a friend.”_ rang in his ears

 

“Jim told me you said something to him in the courtroom the day Penguin was sent to Blackgate. He said he couldn't do anything at the time but felt that allowing you two to see one another was the right thing to do.”

 

Ed bit his tongue so hard he thought it might swell. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. “When can I see him?”

 

“That depends on the two of you. Penguin has to continue to stay out of trouble and you have to show your doctors that you can be trusted.”

 

“Do you think I can be trusted?” Ed asked, genuinely seeking an answer

 

“I hope so. Otherwise, the commissioner and I are going to look really stupid.”

 

Ed gave a soft chuckle. He couldn't forgive Jim for his betrayal. But the strings he was pulling for him made his edges soften.

 

Lucius was staring at the clock on the wall. It was as if he was anticipating something. The loud 'tick-tock' like some kind of mechanical war drum. For a brief moment, Ed thought Lucius looked nervous.

 

“Is there another reason you're here?” Ed asked

 

“Nope...” Lucius punctuated the word but stared at Ed with narrowed eyes and an intense look. Ed returned the sentiment.

 

“You need my help, don't you?” The Riddler smiled

 

* * *

 

Martin sat in the library and surrounded himself with books and scattered notes related to his newest obsession- despite his father's insistence that he stop meddling. _What father doesn't know won't hurt him_ , he thought. He found a copy of _Gotham's Sewers: An Oral History._ His father had given the author an award for it when he was Mayor. It was a terrible book... but it confirmed some of the information from Millie Jane's diary.

 

Not only were there secrets hidden in the walls of the Van Dahl mansion, but there were underground passageways buried throughout Gotham City! There was even one that might be under Wayne Manor that leads to an elaborate cave complex. However, thanks to one Jeremiah Valeska, that particular path was likely destroyed in an explosion. Which was a shame, really.

 

Martin turned his attention to _The Book of Old Gotham_. It was handwritten. Very old and very delicate. It was written by one of the original colonists of Gotham- Alienor Frych. He had just started reading when there was a knock at the door.

 

“Miss Dimitrov?” Jim Gordon gave an awkward smile

 

“да.” Olga glared

 

“I was hoping to have a word with you. May I come inside?”

 

Olga turned her nose up at the commissioner but she stepped aside, allowing Jim to enter. Martin was already standing in the foyer with his arms crossed. Jim shuttered. It was creepy how much he was just like Oswald.

 

“Hello, Martin.”

 

Martin already had a note written. _Hello. Now go away._

 

“I'm not here to cause any trouble. I promise I won't take up too much of your time. I just need to talk with Miss Dimitrov.” he turned to Olga, “Is there a place where we can speak more privately?” He motioned his head towards Martin

 

Olga spoke something in Russian. Martin signed in response. Olga laughed.

 

“Martin stays.” She crossed her arms and stared the Commissioner down.

 

“Oh... alright then.” Jim cleared his throat, “Sofia Falcone is no longer in a coma and she's escaped police custody.”

 

Martin hitched a breath.

 

“Everything's gonna be alright. I've got my best men on it. But, it's possible she might come here.” He directed his attention to Olga, “If it's alright with you, I'm going to have some of my officers patrol outside until we've located her. Just as a precaution.”

 

Olga and Martin agreed and thanked the commissioner. When the door closed, Olga walked up to Martin who was still frozen in place in the foyer.

 

“Are you afraid of this Sofia?” She asked

 

Martin shook his head “No” but his eyes told a different story.

 

“Don't you worry.” she smiled, “I make phonecall.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super dialogue-heavy chapter. Oof.
> 
> In case you haven't brushed up on your Hungarian folklore: Szépasszony is a demonic femme fatale who seduces and kidnaps young men. Seemed fitting that Gertrud would warn Oswald about her.
> 
> I've also started posting all of the letters that appear in this fic in the next part of this series. You can find all of them in "Our Home in Gotham: Letters from Ed, Os, and Martin." I should be posting the first letter from Oswald pretty soon.


	4. Opposite Sides of a Big Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a reference to "Floating (The Waltz of Tommy and Nathan)" by Pretty Balanced.
> 
> Ed's letter to Oswald is in [Chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354426/chapters/46175995) of "Our Home in Gotham"

Blackgate State Penitentiary was located on the opposite end of Gotham, just south of the Narrows. The only thing connecting the two islands being a single bridge. The Narrows had been hit harder than most in the last year and a half due to the proximity to Blackgate. When no help came, the guards abandoned their posts. Many of the inmates starved in their holding cells when the prison was abandoned while others escaped. Ed gnashed his teeth when he heard and prayed that his father hadn't been among the escapees.

 

Edward had been escorted from Arkham early that morning. He was too excited to eat and spent most of his time pacing back and forth in his cell. The guards had wrapped him up in every cuff and chain imaginable and dragged him into the back of the transport van. He was surprised to see Jim Gordon sitting there with him.

 

“One hour. That's all I could swing.” Jim made a face. Ed wasn't entirely sure if Jim felt guilty, was regretting his decision, or was constipated, “No funny business, alright?”

 

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Ed gave a predatory grin. One that made Jim's eyebrows crawl into his hairline. Ed wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize his visitation with Oswald, but he liked keeping the commissioner on his toes.

 

Jim, accompanied by two additional guards, took Edward to a large room. It was glaringly white- from the painted cement walls to the laminated floor. He was instructed to sit at one of the cramped cubicles. He had practically chewed his nails down to the bone before the door opened on the opposite side of the glass.

 

Oswald looked completely out of his element without his usual armour. Instead of an embroidered suit and opalescent buttons, Oswald was wearing a light blue jumpsuit with a number code- standard uniform for Blackgate inmates. The color made Oswald's complexion look ruddier than normal. His hair was devoid of product and hung limply across his forehead. It was wispy and feathery. It looked soft. Ed wished he could touch it...

 

Oswald tapped the glass and broke Ed out of his daze. He had been waiting patiently on the other side with the phone to his ear. Edward kicked himself internally for keeping him waiting.

 

“H-Hello, Oswald.”

 

“Hello, Edward.”

 

Oswald's smile could've melted steel. It was bright and loving and everything Ed hadn't realized he needed in that moment. His chest tightened and his eyes started to sting. The unbearably small partition left both of them feeling claustrophobic. However, despite their closeness and the cramped space, they feel miles apart. Like they are trapped on the opposite side of the world's largest room.

 

“I got your letter.” Oswald broke the silence that Ed hadn't realized was there

 

“I'm glad.” Ed chuckled, “I wish I could've written more.”

 

“I don't know what I would've done if you had written any smaller.” Oswald laughed, “My eyesight isn't exactly great.” he gestured to his eye

 

Edward frowned, “Will they not give you glasses?”

 

“No. But that doesn't matter. I don't want them.”

 

“But, Oswa-”

 

“-I don't want any of the other inmates using it against me.” Oswald waved dismissively

 

“Soooo, you'd rather be blind?” Ed questioned

 

“ _Partially_ blind.” Oswald rolled his eyes, “It's really not that bad.”

 

“Stop being stubborn! Your eyesight is just going to get worse.” Ed raised his voice. Jim cleared his throat. Ed took a deep breath, “Sorry... The first time I get to see you in months and I'm already arguing.”

 

“Stop apologizing. I understand that you are concerned about my well being.” he smiled again, “Which reminds me... you had a _lot_ to ask me in your letter.”

 

“I might've gotten a little carried away.” Ed chuckled

 

“A little?”

 

He assured Ed that the food was marginally better than Arkham. Blackgate had state funding so their meals at least consisted of three food groups. The asylum, due to budgetary constraints, relied primarily on charitable donations. Some restaurants in the area would donate surplus food that would usually get blended into some kind of porridge. Other times they would end up with mountains of canned vegetables with questionable expiration dates. The Gotham City Health Department, if they cared enough to even bother showing up, would have a field day.

 

Oswald wasn't allowed to have his cane but he was offered an ankle brace. He apparently refused to wear it outside of his cell for the same reasons he refused to wear glasses for his damaged eye. He had also been granted a solitary cell for the safety of the _other_ inmates. Apparently, Oswald was too volatile a personality to risk having a cellmate. Despite that though, Oswald had made some powerful allies inside Blackgate.

 

Edward recognized the names of some of Don Falcone and Sal Maroni's men. Some of Oswald's allies are even former employees of Fish Mooney. He seemed to be doing well for himself. Which was a relief considering Eduardo Dorrance was currently an inmate at Blackgate- much to Edward's surprise. He assumed that inhuman behemoth would have been buried in a cement block underground. But, Oswald assured him that he wasn't nearly as much of a problem now that all of Nyssa Al Ghul's enhancements had been removed. The man avoided confrontation and became practically docile after being offered the opportunity to transfer to Peña Duro Prison. The transfer would mean that he would be closer to his teenage son who currently lived with his mother in Santa Prisca.

 

“Have you gotten to see Martin?” Ed asked

 

“I got to see him last week. You said in your letter that you haven't been allowed to see him. Has that changed?”

 

“No... they still won't let me see him.” Ed sighed, “I'm only allowed to visit family. A list which only includes you.”

 

“Why would our son be excluded from that list?” Oswald risked asking

 

Edward's eyes widened. He adjusted his glasses, “I take it Martin told you?”

 

“He did.” Oswald tried not to sound apprehensive but failed

 

“Does that... bother you?” Ed became nervous, “I- I panicked! He asked if I could be his father too and I just agreed to it without consulting you! He was so upset and _scared_ and I just-”

 

“-Ed, calm down.” Oswald chuckled, “I'm not mad. Just... surprised.”

 

“Oh.” Ed took a breath to calm himself, “In that case... I guess I can ask if that can be arranged.” He risked a glance over at Jim who, having overheard everything Edward had just said, nodded his head. Ed nodded back.

 

“Good... maybe you can help keep an eye on him.” Oswald made a face that gave the impression that there might be a problem with their mischievous son

 

“You're worried about Martin?”

 

“Of course I'm worried about him!” Oswald tried not to raise his voice too loudly, “We have many enemies, Edward. You know that. Anyone of them could decide to hurt him or use him against us. And we're both trapped here.”

 

“I doubt Olga will let anything happen to him.” Ed tried to sound reassuring

 

Oswald rolled his eyes, “She _is_ a Dimitrov, but she's not a mobster.”

 

Edward chuckled, “Well, it wouldn't be the first time she kept secrets.”

 

Oswald narrowed his gaze, “Do you know something I don't?”

 

“Maybe?” Ed scrunched his nose. With Jim Gordon and other witnesses present, he couldn't exactly tell Oswald that he had tasked Olga with body disposal since as far back as the era of Mayor Cobblepot. He took it upon himself to do background checks on everyone under Oswald's employ and was rather surprised to find that she was an estranged member of the Dimitrov Crime Family. She was more than eager to do clean-up duty or call upon members of her family that owed her a favor or two if it meant keeping the master of the house safe. She was rather fond of Oswald. Protective, even. She was just as protective of Martin.

 

“Have you really not been able to visit anyone besides me?” Oswald asked, “Not even Lee?”

 

“Oh, god, no. I doubt Lee wants to ever see me again.”

 

“She doesn't.” Jim spoke out of turn.

 

Edward rolled his eyes, “Foxy paid me a visit a couple of weeks ago. He delivered your letter and asked me some questions about a case because, apparently, the GCPD forensics department is completely useless without me.” Ed glared at Jim

 

“Lucius Fox wants you to consult on a case?” Oswald chuckled at how ridiculous that was

 

“Yeah... Say, Oswald...Did your father ever talk about Millie Jane Van Dahl?” Ed asked, “I believe she is an ancestor of yours.”

 

Oswald's eyes widened. Had Martin broken his promise? Why was Ed asking about her?

 

“No... But, I know of her.” he gulped, “Why do you need to know about her?”

 

“Lucius seems to think that this case has something to do with her.”

 

“Why is that?” Oswald asked

 

“Classic copy-cat arson. Apparently, the buildings that are being targeted are the same ones she burned down back in the 19th Century.”

 

Oswald went pale. Martin had a flair for setting fires- pun not intended. He shifted his weight in his chair, “How long ago did the fires start?”

 

“About four months ago.”

 

The knowledge that Oswald had of his son discovering Millie Jane's diary roughly four months prior tore through his gut. Panic rose to the top of his head. Edward must have noticed because he placed the palm of his hand on the glass.

 

“Oswald? What's wrong?”

 

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” he lied

 

“Why do I get the feeling that _you_ know something that I don't.” Ed raised an eyebrow. Oswald scrunched his nose- mocking Ed's earlier expression.

 

“Ed.” Jim's voice startled him, “It's time.”

 

“Already?” Ed crumpled

 

“Yeah.” Jim stared at the floor, not wanting to see the look on Ed's face. If he had any say in the situation, Ed and Oswald wouldn't even be locked up. Not to say that he trusted the pair as far as he could throw them but he had once prided himself on being a man of his word. He thought that he and the new mayor were on the same page and had agreed to a full pardon based on their service at the barricade. However, the Mayor suddenly changed her mind and demanded they be arrested. She's been acting weird ever since and has started isolating herself from the public eye. Lucius and Harvey suspect that someone- probably a rival crime boss looking to take advantage of Gotham's instability- was blackmailing the Mayor. But, without sufficient evidence, they were forced to comply.

 

“When can I see him again?” Ed asked

 

“I don't know... I'll see what I can do.” Jim gave a reassuring nod. He didn't want to risk making any more promises he couldn't keep.

 

“You'll keep writing to me, won't you?” Oswald asked

 

“Of course!” Edward pressed his hand to the glass, “If I have to tear the wallpaper off the walls in the lobby so that I have more paper to write on, I will.”

 

I love you.” Oswald's voice was small. He wasn't sure if it would be the last time Ed would ever hear him say it. The thought alone made him sick to his stomach.

 

“I love you too, Os.” Ed choked

 

Jim and Edward remained quiet the entire trip back to Arkham. As they crossed the bridge that led to the asylum, Jim finally spoke.

 

“Ed, I'm-”

 

“Don't. Just... _don't._ ” Ed seethed, “I appreciate what you've done for us today but, unless you are about to tell me that you have plans to get us released, I don't want to hear what you have to say.”

 

“Alright. Fair.” Jim relented, “How about this...What if I gave you some insight on that case Lucius told you about?”

 

“What kind of insight?” Edward's expression darkened. He reveled in the fact that both Jim and Lucius felt the need to be so secretive.

 

“They're back, Ed.”

 

“Who?”

 

“The Court.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the Gotham writers combined King Snake (Edmund Dorrance) and Bane for the series. Since King Snake was Bane's dad, I'm just going to assume that Eduardo has a kiddo out in Santa Prisca that will later take on the mantle of "Bane" after his dad. Seemed fitting.
> 
> Also, I hope everyone is enjoying the little mysteries I keep unwrapping. I'm having fun writing them :3


	5. The Queen of the Narrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the SUPER late update. I know it's been... like.. over a month.
> 
> I've been hating everything I write lately and kept putting off updating this until now. Dumb, I know.
> 
> I am also in the middle of moving to a new apartment which is super stressful and has eaten up all of my time. Once things settle down again, I'll be able to update more frequently.

The colors of the taxidermy birds on the mantle were more vibrant than Martin remembered. They smelled strongly of gunpowder and chromium salts. He could hear a man's voice booming in the other room.

 

In front of him stood Millie Jane. She was wearing an old fashioned nightgown and robe. Her hair hung about her shoulders. She was holding a candle and staring _directly_ at Martin.

 

The floorboard beneath his foot creaked as he made his way towards the phantom in his dream. He winced at the sound. Luckily, the man in the other room was speaking so loudly he hadn't heard Martin's misstep.

 

“Shh!” Millie said, a finger to her lips. She knelt down on her knees and pressed the palm of her hand against a panel near the floor. There was a familiar 'click' and a brief gust of displaced air. Millie Jane looked over to Martin and waved him over. Martin knelt down beside her and crawled through the passageway that overlooked the library.

 

“The city is on _fire_ , Mister Dent!” The man Martin had heard earlier gesticulated wildly

 

“I am well aware, _Theodore.”_ The other man spoke with a fond familiarity with the older man. They were clearly friends, “But, I do not know what the Court expects us to do about it. Without the book, we can't control Calamity.” The younger man squeezed the bridge of his nose before pouring two glasses of Scotch. He handed one to the older man. He was stouter than his younger friend. He had grey hair, a monocle, and continued to flap around the room like one of the Carrier Pigeons that was freshly stuffed and mounted near the bar.

 

“The citizen's of Gotham are losing faith in me. I can feel it, Robert.” The greying man gritted his teeth, “I suppose this is what it means to suffer the sins of our fathers.” he sighed, looking over at a portrait of Edmunde Van Dahl.

 

 _What kind of calamity are they talking about? And what book?_ , Martin pondered.

 

Since he started living at the Van Dahl estate, Martin had slowly begun to uncover the mysteries surrounding the misfortunes of Millie Jane. She had been a bright young girl who spent more time reading books than she did studying etiquette or more womanly pursuits- much to the dismay of her parents.

 

A profound love of Gotham City apparently ran in the family. She adored Gotham and all of her quirks. She often left the estate late at night to traverse the tunnels and catacombs that branched off like veins beneath the earth. Her natural rebelliousness got her into trouble. So much so that she was eventually incarcerated at Arkham Asylum. After several months, she escaped. But, her freedom was short-lived because she took her own life the night of her truancy.

 

Martin turned back toward Millie Jane... and was instead face-to-face with the Red-Eyed woman. Before he could react, she grabbed his face and screamed. But her cries sounded distant. Almost like she were a grotesque ventriloquist and had thrown her voice down the hallway. Martin looked towards where he could hear the screams...

 

He was in the Van Dahl Library at Cardy. He wasn't alone. Across from him sat one of his classmates- Verity Silverlock. She was albino. Her hair was thin, ghastly white, and cut just below her ears. Her skin was like ash and her eyes were more pink than they were red- but she still reminded him a lot of the Red-Eyed woman.

 

Verity was slightly older than Martin and hadn't interacted with him much while he was away at boarding school. The most they ever saw of each other was when they were both at the library or when she would practice cello before his piano lessons.

 

Her expression was vacant. She looked a bit like a doll. Porcelain and hollow. Martin waved a hand in front of her bloodless face and marble eyes. She blinked behind translucent lashes. Then, she looked up at something behind Martin. Her face contorted into confusion and fear. She was screaming but her voice wasn't coming from her own mouth. Instead, it was behind him. He turned...

 

He was in his bedroom. His fathers where there... and they were crying. He was a ghostly spectator watching the scene from the edge of the doorway. Martin- or, at least a figure that looked a lot like him- was dressed in a suit and laying on his bed. He was unnervingly still and surrounded by flowers. He looked a lot like the photograph he had of Millie Jane. The one of her sleeping. Or, at least, he _assumed_ she was sleeping.

 

Martin looked down at his hands and saw that he was holding a box of matches...

 

He awoke to the sound of Edward barking. He was scratching at the bedroom door and asking to be let outside. Martin rubbed the sleep from his eyes and, with a loud yawn, got up and opened his bedroom door. Edward the dog happily wagged his tail and bounded down the stairs. Martin smiled when he smelled pancakes and slid down the banister.

 

He stretched and proudly presented himself in the doorway to the kitchen- the Prince of his own little castle on the outskirts of Gotham.

 

It had been an entire year since his parents were incarcerated. In that time, Martin had mapped out a sizable portion of the tunnels beneath Gotham. It spanned the entirety of the Diamond District all the way to the border of Robinson Park- of which he was only stopped by a rather large thicket of brier and carnivorous plants. He heard a rumor of a Witch that lived near the park and assumed she had been responsible for them. He didn't want to venture close enough to find out.

 

So, he instead pursued the tunnels that were conveniently located beneath the Narrows. Specifically, the ones that led to Blackgate Bridge. The tunnels had made it much easier to smuggle paraphernalia to and from Blackgate Penitentiary.

 

The Penguin had sensed something was amiss when he started to receive unauthorized gifts. He had an honest-to-goodness comforter, cigarettes, and so many books that Edward would have been jealous. He was honestly rather comfortable, all things considered. He still missed his family dearly but being able to send letters to them was a blessing.

 

Of course, The Penguin confronted Martin and asked about the gifts. Martin, ever the duteous son, explained everything- though he did leave out the parts that included the diary he was supposed to have burned. He hadn't solved all of the mysteries therein and refused to let it all go unsolved. Especially given the frequency of his dreams as of late.

 

Martin told his father about the tunnels and the renovations to the Iceberg Lounge. He had revealed a way to connect the tunnels to the ones under the lounge to create an intricate underground smuggling operation. Martin had been rather proud of himself. It wasn't every day that an eleven-year-old could say that he was running the criminal underground... though, he didn't exactly get credit for it. Yuri Dimitrov- Olga's nephew and ally to the Russian Mob- took it upon himself to “unburden” Martin. Which, of course, meant taking credit for all of Martin's hard work. The Penguin was no fool, but his henchmen were drinking it up.

 

Yuri felt that Martin and his family owed him a debt. Apparently, Mister Riddler had tasked Olga with body and evidence disposal years ago when The Penguin was mayor. If it was a particularly tricky task or the GCPD was snooping around (which they often were) Olga would call in a favor with Yuri and his henchmen. Even though Yuri owed Olga more debts than he could ever possibly repay in his lifetime, he felt the need to pressure Martin into submitting to his demands. Unfortunately, Martin was in no position to argue. Inciting a war with the Dimitrov Crime Family while Sofia Falcone was still lurking in the shadows was unwise. Not to mention the fact that the GCPD would likely get involved and discover the tunnels beneath the Iceberg Lounge and the Van Dahl estate.

 

“Good morning!” Olga spoke in Russian, “A delivery came from Mister Edward this morning. I served it with your breakfast.”

 

 _Thank you!_ , he signed and then hurried over to his gift before it melted.

 

Before his incarceration, his dad had organized for deliveries of chocolate cookie ice cream to be made every month to the Van Dahl mansion. Olga, of course, disapproved. She would roll her eyes every time the deliveries came and would rant about how children needed more than just ice cream. But, she couldn't help her smile when seeing Martin's eyes light up every month. She also didn't mind the fact that Mister Edward had even thought about her and occasionally she would receive a few pints of Russian Plombir.

 

Yuri stumbled into the kitchen that morning with a groan. Martin had to suppress the urge to gouge Yuri's eyes out when he took an unwelcomed spoonful of his ice cream.

 

“Don't give me that look.” he took another bite of the ice cream, “Избалованный ребенок.”

 

Olga slapped him on the back on the head with a wooden spoon. Yuri and Olga started spewing insults at one another. Martin rolled his eyes and enjoyed his pancakes and ice cream.

 

After breakfast, Martin made his way into the library where he would study. His favorite teacher from Cardy had been hired as his private tutor so that he didn't fall behind in his studies while his parents were in jail. He didn't like the idea of going to school with other children and, given who his parents were, they hadn't argued. They all agreed that home-schooling was probably the less risky option.

 

Mister Lark arrived promptly at eight o'clock as he usually did. He was of average height with salt-and-pepper hair. He had no other distinguishing features aside from the scars he had on his knuckles. Mister Lark said they were from when he was younger and used to be a boxer. But, Martin knew they were knife scars.

 

Martin had difficulty focusing on his lesson that day. Instead, he's locked his eyes with the portrait of Edmunde Van Dahl. It was still in the same place on the wall that it had been in his dream. It was very old and likely worth a substantial amount of money if it had been restored. Martin thought it was odd that the portrait of Edmunde had been the one painting Elijah Van Dahl had let fade. In fact, there was very little information on Edmunde Van Dahl in any of the books in the library. The only reason Martin even knew who was in the portrait was because of the faded lettering marking the back of the frame that read _Edmunde Van Dahl, Honourary Founder 1662._

 

“Martin? Am I boring you?” Mister Lark sighed

 

_No... I just don't want to study maths today._

 

“Oh? What would you like to study instead?” Mister Lark asked, setting the calculus book aside

 

 _History_ , he signed, _I want to learn more about Gotham City._

 

“You want to study the history of Gotham today?”

 

Martin nodded his head

 

“Any particular reason?” he raised an eyebrow. He had no reason to suspect anything strange but Martin's sudden change of interest was enough to give him pause. The Penguin had sent him a letter a while back requesting that he keep an eye on Martin if he started to act strangely. Specifically, if he asked a lot of questions regarding secret societies in Gotham or if he showed any signs of pyromania. Both of which he hadn't ever witnessed in the boy. However, math had always been his favorite subject and he hadn't ever requested to study something else.

 

_I want to know why my father loves this city so much._

 

“I see.” Lark gave a sad smile, “Do you not share the same love for Gotham that your father does?”

 

 _No_. he lied. Martin loved Gotham. But, Mister Lark didn't need to know about any of his secrets.

 

However, Mister Lark had secrets of his own. He had known Martin Van Dahl for several years and knew what he was getting into the moment he had received the call from The Riddler, of all people. He had been working at Gotham Academy at the time of the call. Edward Nygma had told him about a remarkable young boy who was secretly adopted by The Penguin and required a new English teacher at Cardy Boarding School. He was paid in advance and happily transferred schools if it meant having a substantially larger salary. All of which was paid for under the table by the King of Gotham and The Riddler.

 

Honestly, he hadn't minded working for The Penguin again. Though he was thankful he could do so as his son's teacher and not an assassin. He wasn't the biggest fan of bullets flying in his direction and had grown accustomed to the quiet.

 

“I'm afraid I wasn't prepared for a history lesson today. But, we can discuss what I do know until I can better prepare for our lesson tomorrow. Is that alright?”

 

Martin nodded

 

“Excellent.” he smiled and re-positioned himself at the table with Martin, “Your father did a lot of research on the founding of Gotham when he was mayor. Did he ever tell you the names of the founding families?”

 

 _Wayne, Crowne, Elliot, and Kane._ Martin wrote the names down in his notebook

 

“And Dumas. Though, they were exiled and removed from most of the books.” Lark explained

 

_What about the Van Dahl family?_

 

“The Van Dahl's have been in Gotham for a long time, but they are not included in the list of founders.”

 

Martin frowned, slightly disappointed. He was hoping Mister Lark might have some insight into why the portrait of Edmunde Van Dahl had the title of 'Honourary Founder.'

 

“Do you know what year Gotham City was founded?”

 

Martin pondered before answering, _1662?_

 

“Correct. Although, there were settlers here as early as 1635. There are even some textbooks at the Main Public Library that say the city wasn't _truly_ founded until 1815.”

 

_Why is that?_

 

“There are multiple points in Gotham's history where it was burned to the ground and rebuilt. The first time happened in 1662 when it was first given the name Gotham City. The second time was in 1815. And, arguably... the third time was a few years ago when the bridges blew.”

 

Martin frowned. He didn't like being reminded of that year he spent isolated away from Gotham. He had stopped receiving letters from Mister Riddler around that time and had assumed the worst for both him and Mister Penguin. Nightmares of them sailing across the river only to end up as exploded chunks when they got too close to one of the mines still haunted him on occasion.

 

“Perhaps we should continue our lessons tomorrow?” Lark suggested, seeing how upset Martin had become.

 

Martin agreed and spent the rest of the morning reading through Millie Jane's diary. There were still so many empty pieces to the puzzle and he was growing impatient. Mister Lark had mentioned that there were books at the Main Public Library about the founding of Gotham City so he instructed Olga to call him a ride. When asked what for, he told her he was writing a paper and had some homework. That excuse usually worked.

 

The Main Public Library had been recently remodeled. It had thankfully been spared during No Man's Land. His dad had even used it as his hideout during that time. After reunification, Commissioner Gordon closed off the library for renovations. They had to remove all of the traps the Riddler had hidden in the floors. The apartment upstairs had also been gutted and repurposed and an area to the back of the library was dedicated to children. Of which there were many currently curled up in their parent's laps reading and enjoying one another's company. Martin couldn't help but find himself feeling a little jealous.

 

He browsed through the history section and was sad to discover how little information there was on Gotham. There were several copies of _Gotham's Sewers: An Oral History_ lining the shelf. No doubt because they were over-printed. The ones that stood out to him were a book about the history of New Jersey, ghost stories and superstitions around Gotham, and one titled _City on Fire_.

 

Martin felt someone tug on his arm. He looked down and grimaced at the toddler with brown hair and blue eyes. She looked familiar but Martin couldn't quite place where he'd seen her. He shook his arm to get her to let go but she just held on tighter. He shook harder but that only made her laugh. He rolled his eyes and instead picked her up. He held her out at arm's length and carried her over to the children's section.

 

“Daddy!” she called out to the man who was now walking towards them. Martin looked over and glared when he saw who it was.

 

“Thanks.” Commissioner Gordon gave an embarrassed smile, “She's a sneaky one.”

 

“It doesn't help that you nodded off. Seriously, Jim. I can't step away for two seconds without her running off.” Lee scolded him, “Thank you for bringing her back.”

 

Martin, who was still holding Barbara Lee in the air gave them a fake smile. It was one eerily reminiscent of The Penguin. One that he knew would make their skin crawl. He put the toddler down when he saw the two adults shiver.

 

 _No problem._ He signed, not caring if they understood him or not, _Just keep an eye on the brat._

 

“We'll keep an eye on her. Don't you worry.” Lee smiled

 

_You sign?_

 

“Yes. I had to learn. A few of my patients are deaf.”

 

_Oh... Sorry I called her a brat._

 

“Apology accepted.” she turned to Jim and her step-daughter, “How about you two go find a book to check out. I'll be over there in a minute.”

 

“Yeah... sure.” Jim gave an awkward nod of his head before walking away. Barbara Lee waved from over her dad's shoulder.

 

“So... have you been staying out of trouble?” she asked

 

_Mostly._

 

“Good. How about Ed and Oswald?”

 

_They're still in jail._

 

“True, but when has that stopped either of them from causing mischief?” she chuckled, “Come on. You can tell me. Are they scheming something?”

 

_Even if they were, why would I tell you?_

 

She scoffed, “Fair point.”

 

Martin narrowed his eyes and considered her for a moment. Last he heard, she was still the Queen of the Narrows. Maybe she could be useful for something. He glanced over at the commissioner and the toddler over by the nature section. Bats were her favorite animal.

 

_Has anyone seen Sofia Falcone?_

 

“No.” She crossed her arms, “Jim is still helping the others at the GCPD with that case.”

 

_What about you? Have you heard anything?_

 

“Why would I know anything?” she asked

 

Martin glared in response.

 

Lee sighed and then turned to make sure Jim couldn't overhear, “She made an appearance in the Narrows recently. I haven't figured out what she was up to. I've honestly been a little busy dealing with some other issues at the clinic.”

 

 _Are a lot of people sick?_ He asked. He knew there were still victims of the Tetch virus running around in the Narrows as well as escapees from both Arkham and Blackgate.

 

“You could say that.” she clicked her tongue, “Someone has also been setting fires around town and a lot of families are displaced.”

 

 _Can I help?_ He asked. He wanted to get on the good side of the Queen of the Narrows.

 

“Sorry, Martin. I'm not sure how a kid could help. No offense.” she smiled and then placed a hand on his shoulder, “I'll let Olga know if I see Sofia again, alright?”

 

Martin nodded his head, trying to hide his glare. He hated being treated like a child. No one but his parents really understood how clever he was. But even they treated him like a child on occasion.

 

Back home, Martin spread out on the floor in the library. Books and pieces of paper with sprawling notes were scattered about. Olga had wandered into the library long enough to scold him and then leave the messy room in frustration.

 

“You are _just_ like Mister Edward!” she complained, “Always making a mess with those books.”

 

Martin couldn't help by smile. He first started reading the book on local urban legends and superstitions around Gotham. There were various haunted houses and stories about how the city was cursed by Witches. How they drained the life and happiness from the soil. It was true that happiness was rare in Gotham. Anyone who was happy would eventually die horribly or be compelled to kill those that they loved.

 

Martin closed the book as he recalled a conversation he had with his dad.

 

_Is it true that you shot him?_

 

“Yes... I did.”

 

_Why?_

 

“It's... a complicated story.” Ed's throat was tight, “You're young. I shouldn't burden you with it.”

 

_I thought you were done underestimating me?_

 

His dad scoffed, “You're right. Do you really want to know?”

 

Martin nodded and then crawled into his dad's lap. Both of them craved being held by someone. It was grounding.

 

“When I was Oswald's Chief of Staff, we got really close. The closest we had ever been at that point. I had saved him. He had saved me from Arkham. I saved his life again when Butch threatened him... we were inseparable.”

 

_You loved him?_

 

“I did... But I didn't know I did.” he cleared his throat, “I met a woman. She looked just like a woman I had loved before and I... I started to neglect Oswald. I stopped paying attention to how upset he was. I stopped writing his speeches for him. I stopped taking his clothes to the cleaners. I stopped making him breakfast... I stopped being a good friend. I was an idiot.”

 

_So why did you shoot him?_

 

“He killed her.” he sighed, “I destroyed everything he had and then shot him... even after he told me he loved me.” Edward couldn't help but laugh at the memory, “I was so angry with him for saying it. I knew he loved me. I had tricked him into admitting it, but he had been such a coward and couldn't say it to me directly. It wasn't until his life was in danger that he had the nerve to say those words. It just made me _hate him_ even more... I yelled at him and told him that love was about sacrifice. I felt that he should have been willing to put my happiness before his.”

 

Martin thought for a moment before signing a response, _What about James Gordon?_

 

“What about him?”

 

_You loved Lee, right?_

 

“Y-yes...”

 

_But she loved him. Why didn't you sacrifice your happiness for hers?_

 

“I... that's a good point.”

 

_Maybe then you wouldn't have gotten stabbed._

 

Edward just laughed and ruffled Martin's hair. He was proud of the fact that Martin was such a perfect blend of both him and Oswald- hyper-intelligent and keenly intuitive with people and their emotions. Martin wasn't biologically theirs, but he may as well of been.

 

Suddenly, Olga barged into the room.

 

“Hide!” she said in a hushed voice, “Someone is in the house!”

 

Martin rushed to the hallway and opened a panel in the wall. Olga's eyes widened when it opened. Martin wasn't sure if it was because of the shock of knowing it was there or the plum of dust and cobwebs.

 

 _Wait here._ He signed and then closed the panel before she could respond. He ran to the opposite end of the wall and opened a different panel. This one led to a passageway that opened up into the foyer.

 

He could hear Edward growling at the figure that was sneaking around the mansion.

 

The sound of sharp heels clicking on the checkerboard marble. Yuri pulled his gun out of his holster and crept around the corner. He was met with the barrel of another pistol, held by a dark-haired woman.

 

Martin had been expecting Sofia Falcone. But, the woman who had broken into his home was Leslie Gordon- The Queen of the Narrows.

 

“My spies told me that _you're_ responsible for this.” She tossed a bag of heroin at his feet

 

“What else do your spies say?” his voice sounded slimy.

 

“They tell me that there is a new King of Gotham... _The Russian._ ”

 

Yuri laughed, “So that's what they call me. I was curious.” he scratched his chin, “Kind of a boring name though.”

 

Martin glared. Yuri wasn't worthy of the title of King of Gotham. As far as he was concerned, it was still a crown proudly worn by the Penguin.

 

The drugs were a new development. The Penguin wasn't overly fond of them. He much preferred social manipulations and murder over the exploitation of addiction. It was a tool at his disposal, sure. But one he didn't like using. He said that it made people too unpredictable and inefficient. He most certainly wouldn't condone such a large drug smuggling ring to damage his relationship with the Narrows. He wouldn't be happy to hear about it.

 

“So it's true then? You're the new King?” Lee didn't seem particularly convinced

 

Martin stepped out of his hiding spot, toppling a vase as he did. Yuri and the Queen of the Narrows aimed their guns in his direction. Leslie, however, was quick to lower hers.

 

“This doesn't concern you, kid.” Yuri glared, “The adults are having a conversation.”

 

Martin wondered if Olga would be upset if he shot her nephew. He gave Lee Gordon a look that warned her not to underestimate him and left the room. He took a sharp turn toward the hallway from his dream. He ducked under a table, opened the panel in the wall, and crawled through a passageway that overlooked the library where the Queen of the Narrows and the False King continued their discussion.

 

“So, are you coming to bend the knee or what?” Yuri asked

 

“The Narrows doesn't serve the King of Gotham. We operate independently.” She aimed her gun at Yuri

 

“Shame.” he eyed her suggestively, “What do you want then?”

 

“I want you to keep your drugs out of my territory!” she yelled

 

“No can do. There's a market for it and my men follow where the money is.”

 

“That's a lie. There is no money in the Narrows.”

 

Yuri laughed, “So why come here, huh? Why not go to the Commissioner and have me arrested?”

 

Lee's gun wavered ever so slightly. Martin could see her having difficulty swallowing, “I like to handle the Narrows in my own way.”

 

“Does he know that you still call yourself the Queen of the Narrows?” Yuri laughed again, “If you'd like, I could always just turn myself in and explain everything to the Commissioner myself. Save you the trouble. I'm sure he'd love to hear everything I know about the Queen and what she's been allowing in her territory. Bank robberies, pharmaceutical fraud, prostitution... high grade Russian black tar heroin.” He took a step closer to her with each item he listed, “Somehow I don't think he'll be impressed with your accomplishments.”

 

“Fine. Let me walk out of here and we'll pretend this conversation never happened.”

 

Martin could see that she had a plan up her sleeve. Though, he wasn't sure what it entailed. Maybe he could help her after all.

 

By the time Martin had made his way out of the secret passageway and gone back to the library, Leslie Gordon was already gone. Yuri was pouring himself a drink.

 

 _You aren't the King of Gotham._ Martin wrote on his notepad in Cyrillic.

 

“If I'm not then who is? Because it's certainly not the Penguin.”

 

Martin was fuming. Thoughts of smashing Yuri's face in with the decanter flashed in his mind. Before he could act on impulse, he could hear the distinct clicking of high heels again. Martin, assuming it must be Lee Gordon, turned to face the intruder. Instead, he is faced with Sofia Falcone.

 

“Hello, Martin.” She's wearing the same mask she wore with The Penguin. The one that makes everyone around her assume that she's innocent and only wants to be their friend. She walked over to Yuri, _The Russian_ , and kissed him.

 

Martin's eyes widened and he felt himself wanting cry. He wouldn't though. Not in front of them.

 

“Poor lamb looks scared.” Sofia cooed. She walked over to Martin and gently placed a hand on his cheek, “It's alright, Martin. I forgive you. No hard feelings?”

 

Martin slapped her hand away and spit in her face. He wasn't going to be so easily manipulated. He was older and smarter now.

 

Sofia held his face in a vice-like grip. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into his jaw.

 

“That wasn't very nice, Martin. Oswald would be disappointed to know that he raised such a rude son.”

 

“Come on, kid. Together with Sofia, we can keep The Penguin's empire safe while he's in prison. She doesn't try and kill you in your sleep and Gotham has a new monarch. It's a win-win for everybody!” Yuri took a celebratory shot of vodka

 

Martin scowled and circled the words he had written earlier before shoving the note in Yuri's face.

 

“What's he saying?” Her voice was cold, bordering on annoyed. She couldn't read Cyrillic. That was good to know. Martin made sure to keep a mental note for later.

 

“He says I'm not the King of Gotham.”

 

“Aw... do you still think Oswald has power while he's locked away?”

 

He wanted to collapse her throat. But, instead, he put on his most innocent face and pretended to be scared.

 

“You betrayed me once already.” Sofia's tone was cold, “I will give you one _last_ chance to redeem yourself.”

 

Martin gulped and then nodded his head. Redemption was certain. But, not for Sofia's sake. He had allowed her to manipulate him before. He had betrayed The Penguin. This time would be different. This time he would correct that mistake. And he would have to ally himself with the Queen of the Narrows to do it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In S3, Os says that the Founder's Dinner was started roughly 200 years ago by the first families and the Gotham Wiki says that Gotham City was founded around that time. Buuuuut, Gotham was founded in 1635 according to the comics and the stories I'm pulling inspiration from were from around that time. So, I'm playing with that a bit and having those be the instances that the Court of Owls purged the city. Hopefully, it's not too confusing. I have a habit of over-complicating mysteries. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	6. Never Invade Gotham in Winter

The summer is almost over. The weather is balmy. The encroaching autumn vapor was suffocating. Martin wished he could just freeze the Gotham humidity and make it snow. He much preferred the winter months. He wasn't expected to go play with other kids or leave the house. No one questioned him when he spent the day curled up by the fire with his books and notes.

 

Thankfully, the self-proclaimed Czar of Gotham spent most of his evenings at the Falcone mansion. So, Martin was able to enjoy his life as normal. He could practice the piano in peace and no one stole his ice cream.

 

Following the events with Sofia and Yuri, he had told his tutor that he was sick. He was afraid of Lark getting hurt in the crossfire if anything were to happen. Of course, he could only keep him away for so long before Mister Lark would become suspicious.

 

But, things seemed to be quiet. Yuri was rarely at the manor and Sofia didn't come around at all. He figured it was safe to continue his studies.

 

Mister Lark arrived promptly at eight o'clock.

 

They were going to continue their lesson on the History of Gotham.

 

Martin had done his fair share of research during the week he had pretended to be sick. He finished most of the books he'd checked out from the library. He thumbed through _City on Fire_ but found that it was primarily a sensationalized documentation of that year everyone had started calling 'No Man's Land'. Martin hadn't been too enthusiastic to read it and so hadn't finished it.

 

In the year 1635, settlers arrived on the small island off the coast of New Jersey. They didn't call it Gotham back then. The Nanticoke Lenni-Lenape Tribe refused to inhabit the land and had warned them about the cursed soil. The settlers, of course, ignored them.

 

They were slowly driven insane by their own hubris. There were rumors of Witches living in the woods that surrounded the settlement- the same woods where the Van Dahl estate was located and the island that would eventually become Arkham Asylum. The Nanticoke people again tried to warn the settlers and urged them not to “make promises you cannot keep with owls.” The result of which would always result in death.

 

In 1662, the settlement was burned to the ground. The eldest members of the Wayne, Elliot, Kane, Crowne, and Dumas families rebuilt the city and named her Gotham. Their reasoning for staying was that they felt an unexplainable connection to the soil. They also believed that the threat of Witches was gone. The woman assumed to be their leader had been burned at the stake in what is now Gotham Square.

 

 _It all sounds like a made-up story._ Martin frowned

 

“It very well may be. A lot of the stories about the founding of Gotham are contradictory. It is quite possible that it was just re-written to fit the needs of the people at the time.” Lark explained

 

_What happened in 1815?_

 

“Ah... yes. I assume you know who was mayor during that time?” he asked

 

Martin pointed to the portrait of Theodore Van Dahl- Millie Jane's father.

 

“Correct. Theodore Van Dahl won over the heart of Gotham alongside his best friend and Chief of Staff, Robert Dent III. In 1815, there was a series of fires that devastated Gotham. The entire infrastructure of the city decayed. The fires became so unruly that most of the city burned down. And, of course, the Founding Families resurrected Gotham from the ashes.”

 

 _What caused the fires?_ He asked

 

Mister Lark sighed, “Some of the sources that I found suggest that it was the mayor's own daughter. But, she died before any of that was confirmed.”

 

Lark could tell where the conversation was heading. The Penguin had already warned him about Martin's odd obsession with Millie Jane and had advised him to avoid talking about her as much as possible. So, he figured now was as good a time as any to change the subject. After all, they had business to attend to.

 

“Not all of Gotham's curses are bad, you know?”

 

Martin raised a curious eyebrow. Lark's voice was pitched lower. He seemed almost... sinister. It didn't scare him but it was definitely different.

 

“There are also rumors that individuals within this city can be gifted with a name. And with that name comes power.”

 

_What do you mean?_

 

“In many cultures, religions, societies... names are very important and powerful things. If you know someone's name, you have the power to influence them. You can call on them, rely on them, blackmail them, slander them. In Gotham, names are considered a gift. Anyone who earns a name in this city is blessed- and cursed- by the being that lives in Gotham's soil.” He walked closer as he spoke, “The Penguin. The Riddler. The Roman... _The Russian._ ” he glared

 

Martin sucked in a breath.

 

Mister Lark passed him a letter that had been burning a hole in his pocket since the night before.

 

_We know about Sofia. Trust Lark. He will keep you safe._

_-Oswald_

 

He nodded his head towards Mister Lark who he realized was holding an emerald green suitcase.

 

_What's that?_

 

“A Delivery. Not to you though.” he checked his watch, “And we should probably get a move on.”

 

_Where are we going?_

 

“A poet. A bite. A blanket. What am I?” Lark recited. The Riddler had left him with some very clear instructions. The riddle was a must.

 

 _Frost?_ , Martin thought. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth as he pondered. He looked to Mister Lark for some kind of guidance but the older man just raised an eyebrow and smiled. Martin was on his own. He looked around the room for some sort of clue. His eyes landed on his dad's desk. It was just as he had left it. There were some books on cryogenics and superfluids and a mostly disassembled gun.

 

_...Oh._

 

* * *

 

 

When Sofia awoke in the hospital, she felt like the same angry little girl that had been sent away from Gotham. Her home had been ripped away from her all over again. But this time, she vowed she would take it back.

 

She dragged herself out of the hospital bed and tried her best to conceal a scream of agony as her legs painfully gave out from underneath her. How long had she been in the hospital? She was overly thin and barely had control over her limbs. Her head throbbed and her voice was hoarse.

 

It wasn't long before nurses flooded the room and pulled her back into the bed. Sofia didn't have the strength to fight them. She clawed at one of them and managed to link her frail fingers around the collar of his scrubs.

 

“How long have I been here?” she asked, her voice not even recognizable to herself

 

“I... uh... we should get you back in bed first.”

 

“ _How long?_ ” She spat

 

“I really shouldn't be the one to tell you...” The young nurse looked to the others for help. No one did.

 

Sofia's fingers wrapped around the young man's throat. She put all of her strength into squeezing as hard as she could. It wasn't nearly enough to kill him, but it was enough to scare him.

 

“Two years!” he squeaked, “Almost three...”

 

Sofia chewed the inside of her cheek as the memory resurfaced. It hadn't taken long for her to regain her strength and find Falcone loyalists hidden throughout her beloved city. They practically fell at her feet when she made her presence known. They had been desperate for leadership. Some of whom were starving following No Man's Land. The events of which left her stunned and heartbroken. If Jim Gordon and Leslie Thompkins had just stayed out of her way, she would never have allowed that to happen. With a Falcone on the thrown of Gotham, a madman like Jeremiah Valeska would never have had a chance.

 

She would never let something like that happen again. Not unless it was _her_ choice. If she wanted Gotham in shambles, it would be by her hand.

 

She was delighted to discover that poor little Oswald had been sent to Blackgate. With him out of the way, it would be easy to take her rightful place as the Donna Falcone- The Queen of Gotham. Unfortunately, Oswald had more allies than she had realized. During No Man's Land and the months following reunification, Oswald had amassed a following. Criminals and citizens alike sang praises.

 

Even behind bars, Oswald was a pest.

 

To make matters worse, she couldn't find Victor Zsasz. The man had been exceedingly loyal to the Falcone Crime Family. In a lot of ways, the man _was_ family. The Roman had taken Victor under his wing and made him the man he was. She knew he had survived the events of No Man's Land. She didn't think he had fled the city when the bridges reopened but she couldn't blame him if he had.

 

In the meantime, she was mostly on her own. She couldn't trust anyone else. No Man's Land had turned her men into a pack of rabid dogs. They lacked the finesse and poise they once had. They were clumsy, unreliable, and she questioned their loyalty. They had developed this annoying instinct to pack bond with one another in smaller groups and shift their alliances based on their chosen tribes.

 

The paranoia that she truly had no allies left is what led her to the Narrows. She had scouted the area a few times to let her presence be known. She had hoped Lee would approach her on her own, but the woman was apparently too busy. The concept of Lee not willing to take the time out of her schedule to meet with her made the scar between her eyes ache.

 

She was disappointed to discover that Lee hadn't jumped at the opportunity to control more than the filthy Narrows. She would have made an excellent Queen of Gotham. And it would have made Sofia's job easier.

 

Instead, the void in power following Oswald's imprisonment had been filled by a non-native Gothamite by the name of Yuri Dimitrov. The Russian had been sent to protect Martin and the Van Dahl estate. In proper Dimitrov fashion, he made no hesitation to turn it into an opportunity to claim the throne for himself.

 

The Czar of Gotham had proven himself to be an idiot. He was used to having everything handed to him on a silver plate. He was a fool, but he had guns and resources. He had the Russian mob and members of the Dimitrov Crime Family at his disposal. So, Sofia was having to play the long game in order to take him down.

 

Seducing him had been the easy part. The man practically melted into her touch. She was almost disappointed. Oswald had been a challenge and, even then, she never really seduced him. She wasn't exactly his type. But she had convinced him that they were friends. It took months of planning and careful execution. He set the bar for her standards rather high. With Yuri, she just had to kneel. A degrading gesture. But one that no one had to know about. Especially after her plans were executed and she could finally kill him.

 

She sipped her martini. The glass was dirty and she was fairly certain a good majority of the alcohol behind the bar was fruit juice. Cherry's was underwhelming. Not much had changed in the three years she had been comatose. She expected Lee to have higher standards though. She married Mario and he was certainly no stranger to the finer things in life.

 

“Could you leave us alone for a moment?” A woman's voice spoke to the bartender. It was soft. Motherly. With just the hint of something leftover from that pesky little Tetch Vitus. The Queen of the Narrows had finally graced her with her presence.

 

“Leslie.” she smiled

 

“Sofia.” Lee didn't even bother to give her a false smile. Instead, she waited for the room to clear before going behind the bar and pouring herself a drink. The bottle, of course, being one hidden in a separate compartment hidden from patrons, “What do you want?”

 

“I only want what you want.” Sofia stood up and fidgeted with her hands. Her cream-colored suit and expensive stiletto heels were ill-suited for a trip to the Narrows. To an untrained eye, she appeared nervous and even repentant.

 

“Oh? And what do I want exactly?” Lee made it clear that she could see right through her.

 

Sofia straightened her back, “You want the Czar of Gotham to stop peddling drugs in your territory.”

 

“I hear you've allied with him.” Lee didn't even bother looking up at her. After her failed attempt to confront The Russian herself, she sent her spies after him. It took less than a day for one of them to come back with the news that Yuri and Sofia were lovers.

 

“It's all an act.” Sofia confessed, “I need to get on his good side so that I can take his place.”

 

Lee chuckled, “Somehow I don't think The Penguin would be too happy about you sitting in his chair.”

 

“Oswald is in prison. He has no power anymore.” Sofia sneered

 

“You really think that?” Lee took a sip of her whiskey. Oh, if only Sofia knew what she knew about what the Penguin and his son were up to.

 

“I've been away too long. Gotham has changed a lot since I was comatose.” she sighed, “I need someone who I can trust to help me shape her back into the city it was meant to be.”

 

“Why would you ally with me? I'm the one who shot you and put you in that coma in the first place.”

 

“You proved that you could be loyal. You were only trying to protect Jim. And, for that, I respect you.” Sofia didn't exactly lie

 

“You'll forgive me if I don't believe that.” Lee arched an eyebrow

 

“Of course I forgive you. Trust is... difficult. But we have a mutual enemy. And I want to see him fall.”

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a while since Martin rode in the back of _this_ particular limo. With its custom plum interior and mini-bar fully stocked- and locked- with expensive Scotch, Cognac, and red wines. This was _The Penguin's_ limo. The one he specifically drove to business meetings or to lavish parties where he wanted to impress.

 

They pulled up to the abandoned factory in the Otisburg District. The old production wing of GothCorp Labs had never fully recovered from No Man's Land. Most of the workers and scientists fled and rebuilt in other cities which made the old building a perfect hideout for someone who might want to take advantage of the abandoned equipment.

 

Martin and Lark descended into the basement using an old pulley elevator. If Hell had frozen over, Martin was fairly certain that was precisely where they were heading. Martin pulled the fur collar of his coat closer to him. The elevator groaned as ice crystals cracked and hissed. When they finally reached the bottom, Martin let out a breath and immediately choked. The freezing air filling his lungs felt like razors.

 

Lark, who was doing a better job of disguising his discomfort, gave a reaffirming squeeze to Martin's shoulder. When the boy had finally regained his composure, he stood tall and walked down the long hallway towards the giant metal doors.

 

The interior of the room was completely coated in ice and snow. How anyone could get any work done with all of the snow contaminating every surface was beyond him. Martin's examination of the large research room was cut short as Lark pulled him in close. His teacher's hands firmly on his shoulders.

 

In front of them stood a man. Martin had never met him personally but he had heard a lot about him. The Penguin's first meeting with the infamous Mr. Freeze hadn't exactly gone over well. A hit had been put out on Oswald and Fries had been the one to pick up the contract. As luck would have it, The Penguin escaped mostly unscathed and the two would later become allies. More or less.

 

Victor Fries only ever worked for someone if he had something to gain from it. Usually in the form of money so he could continue his research.

 

“What do you two want?” The man's voice was as cold as his exterior

 

Martin held out the suitcase.

 

“A gift from The Penguin and The Riddler.” Lark explained

 

Fries cautiously stepped towards the boy and the older man. They certainly weren't like the people who usually came to his lab to disturb him. Curious, he took the emerald suitcase from the boy's gloved hands. When he opened it, his eyes widened at the stacks of large bills. This had to of been at least twice the amount Sofia Falcone had once given him. His eyes widened even more when he spots the diamond the size of a peach pit. Frost coats the surface of the jewel where his fingers touch.

 

“You're Penguin's kid?” Fries asked, tilting his head slightly as he examined the child. He recalled overhearing an argument between The Penguin and the Queen of the Narrows where the boy was mentioned. He had been rescued but the boy was still in danger so long as Donna Falcone was still alive. And, apparently, they needed Victor's help to get to her. He thought it was a convoluted reason to need his help and even questioned whether or not the kid even existed.

 

Confirmation of the boy's existence came in the form of a news article. The Penguin was facing jail time and the image of him holding the young boy had been plastered all over the papers. When Fries heard about The Penguin being sent to Blackgate a month later, he'd felt sorry for them.

 

Martin nodded his head and then wrote on his notepad, _Are you going to help me or not?_

 

Fries couldn't help but scoff. This kid was _definitely_ the Penguin's son.

 

“Sure.” he finally says. Why not? It could be fun. And the kid clearly had access to money.

 

“Everything we need is listed in that letter. There are extra funds provided so that you can get them without much hassle. The rest you may keep for yourself. The diamond is, of course, yours to keep as well.” Lark explained

 

Fries opened the envelope and looked through the list. The most complicated thing he needed to procure was the liquid helium on such short notice, “I'll need an address.”

 

“The Iceberg Lounge.” Lark told him and handed over a burner phone, “Call when you have everything prepared and we will direct you to a secret passage that leads to the basement.”

 

Outside and in the safety of the limo, Martin was signing faster than Lark could even translate. His excitement was evident. The adrenaline of everything that had just happened hadn't quite worn off. Martin was ecstatic that he had been trusted with such a task from his parents. They could have just had Lark go and make the business exchange but they had specifically instructed Lark to bring him along.

 

It was validating in a way that nearly made him cry.

 

“We should go back to the Lounge and prepare for tonight. Your father has already arranged for some of our allies to meet us there.” Lark told him

 

Martin was about to respond but he was interrupted by the sound of a phone. Lark seemed puzzled by the name on the caller ID.

 

“Yes, Miss Dimitrov?” Lark winced as the loud screaming of the woman pierced through his ear. Martin winced along with him. Olga was rather protective and had likely discovered what they were up to. After all of the initial shouting, Lark's expression changed, “I see... I will see what I can do.”

 

He hung up and sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

_What's wrong?_

 

“It appears Donna Falcone has a job for us to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

It didn't take Lee long to notice that something was wrong when she got home. Jim was working late on the Gotham Arsonist case with Harvey and Lucius. Lee had to take on a few more clients at the clinic- addicts suffering from heroin withdrawals being a common trend. Barbara was closing a deal on a new property so asking her to watch Barbara Lee was out of the question.

 

The door to the loft apartment was open. The chain-lock snapped, the deadbolt broken, and the wood frame of the door was splintered. With her pistol drawn, she slips through the door and heads straight for Barbara Lee's room. Her heart sank when she found it empty. She ran towards the living room and found the young high-schooler face down on the ground. Thankfully, the babysitter was only knocked out.

 

Lee pulled smelling salts from out of her coat pocket. The girl flailed and her eyes shot open, “Charlie? It's alright, sweetie.”

 

“Mrs. Gordon?” the girl rubbed her eyes, “What happened?”

 

“I was hoping you could tell me.” Lee tried not to sound panicked. She didn't want to scare the girl more than she already was.

 

“I put Barb to bed like I was supposed to, but someone knocked at the door. It was an older guy in a suit and some kid. They were really nice until the older guy broke the door down when I wouldn't let him come inside.”

 

“Did they hurt you?” Lee checked the girl's vitals

 

“No.” she wiped the tears from her eyes, “There was another guy who showed up. He wasn't as nice.”

 

“What did he look like?”

 

“Tall. Dirty blonde hair. He was on the phone with someone and I think he was speaking Russian.”

 

It didn't take long for Jim and Harvey to rush over. Harvey took Charlie back home and Jim started to organize the search party for Barbara Lee. The Queen of the Narrows already knew where she was though. She knew Jim wouldn't have wanted her to tag along but she was still feeling the sting from her failed attempt to confront the Czar of Gotham. Her stubbornness and damaged pride was what motivated her to drive to the Van Dahl mansion on her own.

 

She hid the car outside the gate and walked along the edge of the trees to hide her approach. Oswald had replaced the locks a long time ago so they took her a while to pick. It was a skill she was grateful Ed had helped her learn.

 

She heard the familiar click of the lock. She slowly opened the large oak door and shivered at the chill she felt. She couldn't help but feel like there were eyes on her as she wandered through the halls. She rounded the corner towards the kitchen and leveled her pistol between the eyes of the portly maid.

 

Olga dropped the metal pan she had just finished cleaning and yelped. Her arms flying upwards in surrender. A string of Russian curse words spewing from her lips.

 

“I'm not going to hurt you so long as you tell me where your nephew is.”

 

“Vat do you vant with him?” Olga asked

 

“He kidnapped my daughter. And I think he's roped Martin in on it.” Lee lowered her gun, realizing the maid wasn't a threat.

 

“Oh!” Olga buried her face in her hands, “I think they are at tha Iceberg Lounge. The young master was supposed to come home hours ago. I should have known something vas wrong.” she sniffled into her apron

 

“Don't worry. I'll bring him home.” Lee turned to leave for the Iceberg Lounge. A loud thwack rang in her ears and a throbbing pain bloomed on the back of her head.

 

Olga sighed, a comically sized spoon in her hand. She flipped open her phone.

 

“The Queen of the Narrows is at the Van Dahl mansion.” she spoke in Russian. Her voice mildly apathetic. She didn't like working for the mob. She should have known that working for The Penguin would have sucked her back into that life. Though, she didn't mind so long as she was working for him and not her cowardly family. The Dimitrov's were known for their flaky allegiances and penchant for climbing social ladders until they found themselves atop the food chain.

 

There had been a moment she fell back onto old habits when Mr. Cobblepot was mayor. She didn't much like how melancholic he had become after Mr. Nygma had broken his heart. So, when Miss Barbara Kean had presented her with the opportunity to destroy the offending green bean, she took it. Without hesitation.

 

She looked down at the woman on the ground. She would probably have a concussion and would likely not be very happy with her when she woke up. Maybe she should bake her cookies? Or a hearty bread? That would more than make up for her betrayal. At least, she hoped. Mister Cobblepot valued his alliance with her and it would be a shame if this moment caused it to crumble.

 

When Lee finally opened her eyes, she was tied to a chair. She didn't recognize the room she was in. It was some sort of basement with reinforced concrete walls and branching hallways. To her left were a set of double doors leading to a walk-in freezer. To her right was Barbara Lee and Martin. They were both sprawled out on the floor- Martin with an elaborate stack of books and Barbara Lee with a large box of crayons and a coloring book.

 

“Mommy!” Barbara called out and started to run towards her. Before she made it across the room, a man had scooped her up and taken her back over to where she and Martin had been playing.

 

“I told you to stay put.” Yuri growled.

 

The toddler burst into tears. Martin covered his ears and rolled his eyes. He was clearly not a fan of the smaller child but he didn't hesitate to direct a glare towards the False King. Lee had tried to speak but found that she had been gagged.

 

“You're a bad man!” The girl cried, her fists tightly balled up at her sides and her frown wrinkled her pudgy chin.

 

Yuri took a step towards her and raised his hand. Before he could land a blow on the small child, Martin had positioned himself between them- the knife his father had gifted him solidly in his hand.

 

“Do you even know how to use that?” Yuri teased

 

Martin glared. Oh, yes. His father had taught him a rather efficient move. One that would lodge his knife just below the annoying man's sternum and right into his heart. It was a move that required precision but Martin hated the man enough that he was confident he could accomplish it if given the opportunity.

 

“Alright. You win. Take the brat upstairs.” Yuri relented

 

_Where upstairs? It's a bar, you idiot._

 

“I don't know... juts shove her in The Penguin's office or something.” Yuri rolled his eyes and ignored the insult. He wasn't going to let a sniveling little kid get the better of him.

 

Martin quickly took the girl by the hand and led her to the elevator. They stepped out into the lavish office with purple and blue lighting and frosted glass doors that resembled walls of glacial ice. Martin took out his pen to write but then realized that Barbara probably couldn't read. Hoping she at least knew some sign language, he told her to _Stay_. It took her a moment but then she gave a shy nod of her head.

 

“Okay...” she sniffled.

 

Martin hadn't expected to have to kidnap her. Having her here complicated things but he was still confident in his plan. That didn't mean she was. He guided her over to his father's desk and gave her the coloring book.

 

“Thank you.” She signed as she spoke. Martin smiled. She might have been annoying but she was sort of cute. He couldn't help but ruffle her hair a little. Maybe this was how his parents felt when they met him. The idea of taking the girl under his wing didn't seem like too bad of an idea- provided she didn't opt to follow in the commissioner's footsteps instead.

 

Back downstairs, The Russian made sure to inform The Queen of the Narrows what he had planned for the little girl if she didn't cooperate. In excruciating detail. If he had his way, little Barbara Lee's body would never be found.

 

The Czar of Gotham had made a mistake, however. When speaking to Martin, he had let it slip that Oswald's office was up above them. This made it easy for her to guess they were in the basement of the Iceberg Lounge. Lee just had to stall a little while longer until Jim arrived. She had faith in him to deduce their location and would, at the very least, be able to rescue Barbara Lee.

 

She didn't regret maintaining her position as Queen of the Narrows, but she did regret lying to Jim. She knew that he wasn't fooled. Her dishonesty was obvious whenever she came home from the clinic and immediately started nursing a bottle of whiskey or when she had bruises or injuries she couldn't or _wouldn't_ explain. Jim was a saint for turning a blind eye to her less-than-legal activities and ignored any late-night phone calls she received from a certain flightless bird who had managed to smuggle a phone into his cell.

 

Any punishment she received at the hands of The Russian was probably well-deserved. If she had just put this life behind her, she would have been home with Barbara Lee. If she hadn't made an enemy of the Russian mob and the Dimitrov Crime Family, neither of them would have been captured. Barbara Lee would be warm and snug in her bed and Lee would be curled up next to her husband.

 

Lee didn't have to turn her head to know who was approaching down one of the darkened hallways. Sofia Falcone looked at the scene with mild disgust. The primary focus being on Yuri Dimitrov's annoying laugh.

 

“There she is!” he cackled, “My beautiful queen.” he pulled her in for a kiss put was stopped when the barrel of Sofia's pistol was lodged under her chin.

 

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

 

“Babe... come on now.” Yuri tried to sweet-talk her, “Let's talk about this.”

 

Sofia shot him in the knee. The grisly sound of broken bone and sinew made Lee gag. Yuri fell to the ground and screamed as he clutched at his injury.

 

Sofia removed the gag from around Lee's mouth.

 

“What are you waiting for? Untie me and shoot him.”

 

“No. I don't think I will. I quite like you where you are.” Sofia cooed

 

“Why am I not surprised?” Lee rolled her eyes

 

“I could never ally with you. I just needed to distract you while Martin and his caretaker broke into your home.” she confessed

 

“You're not going to get away with any of this.” Lee spat

 

“Oh, but I will.” she placed a hand on Lee's cheek, “As we speak, my men are positioning themselves throughout the Iceberg Lounge. Jim and the police won't make it through the doors when they come here to save you.”

 

“If you're going to kill us, just get it over with! This fucking hurts...” Yuri complained

 

“I don't want to rush killing either of you.” her voice was cold and merciless. She pointed to Yuri “You... I am going to break every single one of your fingers. As a reminder to _never_ touch me again. And _you_...” she pointed to Lee, “I am going to drive a nail straight through your skull. Right between those pretty little eyes of yours.”

 

Lee blanched at the thought. She knew that it wouldn't kill her right away. Sofia intended to get her vengeance through precise and calculated torture.

 

“Then, while you're completely helpless and in pain, I am going to burn down all of the Narrows. Your people will be slaughtered without mercy and the earth will be salted.” she smiled

 

Martin had made his way back by this point. Sofia had been so engrossed in her description of her vengeance that she hadn't noticed him. Yuri and Lee, however, did. Lee did her best not to look in his direction and kept Donna Falcone occupied. Yuri frowned but kept his mouth shut. He had given in to the fact that Martin was his best chance of survival.

 

“After that, I am going to kill Jim. Then I'll kill Barbara Kean. Then I'll kill poor, innocent little Barbara Lee. Once I have successfully taken everything away from you and made you suffer as I have suffered, I will allow you to die.”

 

Martin ducked behind the wooden crates next to the freezer and retrieved the newly refurbished and reassembled freeze gun he had hidden there. Yuri, upon seeing him, couldn't help but laugh

 

“What's so funny?” Sofia glared, turning her attention to the crippled Czar of Gotham bleeding all over the concrete floor.

 

“I was never the King of Gotham.” he chuckled

 

“How right you are.” she smiled, not quite understanding what The Russian had meant. She aimed her Smith & Wessen pistol directly between his eyes but was startled when it flew from her hands. There is a numbing pain that shoots through her hand and up her arm. She looks over to see a man with frighteningly icy features. She recognizes him as the man who delivered Oswald to her all those years ago. She had paid him whatever he asked only to have it revealed to her later that it had been a trap.

 

He smirks and then speaks in Russian. She turns and sees Martin writing something on his notepad. It's in Cyrillic and so she can't translate it. Martin and Victor Fries both share a laugh.

 

“Martin?” Sofia can't help but sound scared

 

“He says _Do svidaniya._ ” Fries translates. Martin pulls the trigger and it doesn't take long before Donna Falcone, the would-be Queen of Gotham, was fully encased in ice.

 

Martin examines the ice sculpture and smiles. He could get used to this. He pulls out his knife and makes quick work of Lee's restraints. The sudden drop in temperature combined with the utter ruthlessness of the curly-haired child left her stunned.

 

_Are you alright?_

 

“Yes... I'm fine.” she looked up to Victor Fries, “Thank you.”

 

“Don't get the wrong idea.” The brief moment of warmth that he shared with the boy was completely gone when speaking to her, “I didn't intentionally save either of you. I'm only here 'cause the kid hired me.”

 

“Duly noted.” Yuri winced at the pain in his leg. He had managed to use the wooden crates to pull himself up. Martin grimaced at the bright red stains that soaked into the concrete. He doubted Olga would be able to remove them and they would likely have to call a contractor out to re-do the flooring.

 

“What should we do with them?” Fries asked

 

Martin pocketed his knife and signed towards Lee.

 

_If you promise not to tell the police, the drugs will go away._

 

“You have my word.” Lee replied, a little bewildered that she was making any such agreement with someone so young.

 

Martin nodded and then turned his attention to The Russian. He leveled the freeze gun at him.

 

“Whoa whoa... Calm down, kid!” Yuri pleaded

 

_You're only alive because Olga would be sad if I killed you._

 

Yuri scoffed, “I really doubt Auntie Olga would actually care.”

 

Martin and Fries shared a look and then a mutual shrug. Martin flipped the switch on the side of the gun, causing it to charge up and pulse.

 

“Стоп!” He fell to his knees, “I'll do anything! Just don't turn me into a fucking popsicle.”

 

Martin smirked and slung the gun over his shoulder. A wry smile never leaving his face as he wrote.

 

_You work for me now._

 

“You can't be serious?”

 

Martin looked over at Victor Fries who didn't hesitate to aim the barrel of his own gun at The Russian's temple. The cold metal burned his skin. The man yelped from the pain.

 

“Fine! Alright! Okay! I work for you now!” he cried out

 

_Put Sofia in the freezer._

 

Yuri hobbled over to the nearest dolly. As he rolls her into the freezer, Martin looks over to Victor Fries.

 

_Why are you here?_

 

“Thought you could use an extra hand.” he pointed to the hallway where some of Sofia's men had been waiting. They were all frozen in ice. When he had arrived, a firefight had already broken out in the main hall. The Penguin's men were led by the gentleman he had met earlier and two young acrobats who made quick work of the Falcone loyalists. Fries had heard sirens wailing down the street shortly after.

 

Martin looked up at Mister Fries. His features were actually kind of soft. Like maybe he was just as misunderstood and lonely as Martin was. He wasn't entirely sure how to thank him properly. He felt compelled to hug the man. Fries stiffened as the boy wrapped his arms around him. People didn't usually want to be around him, let alone touch him.

 

Fries would never admit it out loud, but he liked the son of the Penguin. Nora had always wanted children but wasn't able to due to her illness. Victor wanted much the same but had given up that dream. Something about the little crime boss reminded him of those long-forgotten aspirations.

 

Aside from his research, he had no goals. Nothing but lonely misery occupied his thoughts. He could almost hear Nora's voice encouraging him and pleading with him to look after the kid.

 

So he would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Freeze joins the party.
> 
> Also, just for claritys sake, Fries totes speaks and reads Russian. He ran off to Siberia for a while there and probably knows at least enough to get by.
> 
> I'm still not fully caught up on all of their letters in "Our Home in Gotham" but I wanted to go ahead and post this chapter (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	7. The Founder's Dinner

The year 1815 was an eventful one in the history of Gotham.

 

It saw the rise and fall of Mayor Theodore Van Dahl, the calamitous fires that devastated most of the city, and the very first Founder's Dinner.

 

The Founding Families of Gotham all congregated during a candlelit vigil at the home of Solomon Zebidiah Wayne. Although records indicate that only the five families were in attendance, earlier accounts detailed in old forgotten books show that representatives of the Van Dahl and Arkham Families were there as well.

 

This tradition was maintained every year for two hundred years with only the most powerful citizens of Gotham being invited. The cycle was never broken until Gotham burned once more and criminals ruled what would later be named _No Man's Land_.

 

The Founder's Dinner would not be hosted again until a year following reunification. The descendants of the Arkham Family- the Silverlocks- hosted it at the previously abandoned estate of Dr. Amadeus Arkham. The evening was unfortunately cut short when one of the attendees noticed smoke in one the unused corridors. Fire licked the neglected stone and blackened the haunted exterior as the descendants of the founding families looked on.

 

A year after the fire at the reclaimed Arkham Estate, Martin Van Dahl received an invitation to dinner.

 

“Where should we take these shipments, Boss?” the eldest of the Kabuki Sisters asked with the fondest of grins. She and her younger sister had been instructed to lay low following the incarcerations of The Penguin and The Riddler. They fled to the Narrows and remained there until they received word that The Penguin needed their help in “swatting a few flies.” The flies, of course, being those loyal to Sofia Falcone.

 

The Iceberg Lounge had become quite the destination for tourists and Gothamites alike and the “Littlest Penguin” was practically a permanent fixture. Members of the Dimitrov Crime Family oversaw the upkeep of the Lounge and kept it running as a mostly reputable business. However, anyone loyal to The Penguin knew who was really calling the shots.

 

Martin was currently overseeing some of the shipments that came in earlier that day. He pointed to a location on the map that was drawn in his notebook. The margins were filled with notes from his dad- The Riddler- who coached him on how to play this particular game of chess. The eldest sister nodded her head and headed towards the basement of the lounge where crates containing an assortment of weapons and ammunition were awaiting transport.

 

Martin visited his parents frequently and they often gave him instructions on how to handle the next phase in securing their empire. In just a short year they defeated Sofia Falcone, made allies with the Russian Mob and the Dimitrov Crime Family, and made a truce with the Queen of the Narrows. Most importantly was the fact that they had successfully secured the reputation of the Iceberg Lounge as _the_ diamond of the Diamond District. Anyone who questioned the eleven-year-old often ended up frozen in a block of ice and put on display in the basement for good measure.

 

Martin wasn't yet the King of Gotham, but all of Gotham's underworld knew that he served as the eyes and ears of his fathers. The boy never hesitated to act in their stead. He had an eerie sense of cold intuition that he shared with his parents and anyone who saw him in action knew to steer clear.

 

Martin was preparing for his debut at the Founder's Dinner. As much as the idea of being accepted as a Van Dahl in such an official way delighted him to no end, he really would much rather stay at the manor and read. He hadn't even been allowed an invitation for a chaperone. He was expected to attend the dinner all on his own since no one in his employ was worthy of being on the guest list. At least, according to the pretentious elite of Gotham. Most of whom had fled the city during No Man's Land. All of them had come back after reunification, re-claimed their estates, and continued where they left off. As if nothing had ever happened.

 

Gotham's elite seemed content to watch their beloved city burn and then be rebuilt and then burn all over again. They certainly were a group that valued traditions...

 

Martin was standing in front of the mirror in the Penguin's dressing room when Commissioner Gordon decided to pay the Van Dahl mansion a visit.

 

“Hello, Martin. How've you been?” Jim tried to be friendly but conversations between him and the Penguin's son were always tense.

 

 _I'm fine. What do want?_ Martin was in no mood to humor the Commissioner. He wanted him to say what he was there to say and then promptly leave. He hadn't slept much the night before between playing his dad's video games and his nightmares about the Red-Eyed Woman.

 

“I was hoping you could answer a few more questions regarding the disappearance of Sofia Falcone.” the tone in Jim's voice was grating. He wanted to be there about as much as Martin wanted him to be.

 

 _I've already answered your stupid questions._ Martin glared as he shoved the notepad in Jim's face. He wasn't usually annoyed by the fact that he had to write in order to communicate. But, if Jim was going to continuously pester him like this, the least he could do was have Lee teach him the basics of ASL.

 

“You told me everything you knew about how Barbara Lee was kidnapped and how Sofia made you do it. But, you never gave a straight answer on where Sofia went after that.” Jim explained

 

_I already said that I don't know. I took your kid to father's office and then Sofia was gone. I wasn't upstairs when the fighting started so I didn't see anything._

 

“We didn't recover Sofia's body after the firefight.” Jim narrowed his gaze, “And my instincts tell me that you might have been the last one to see her alive.”

 

 _Intuition can't help you. You need evidence._ His dad's mantra of _“No body. No crime.”_ was buzzing in his ears.

 

“Martin, I need you to tell me if you know where she is.” Jim took several steps forward, the seriousness of his voice didn't falter, “Is she even alive?”

 

 _Why does that matter?_ Martin couldn't hide the upward curl of his lip.

 

Jim noticed it and knew precisely what it meant. Though, he didn't exactly know the specifics concerning the icy fate of Donna Falcone.

 

“готов идти, босс?” A younger man walked into the room. He was tall. Ashy blonde. His tattoos wrapped around his arms in intricate sleeves. He was wearing sunglasses inside. Jim recognized him as Olga's nephew and he wanted to punch him the moment he met him.

 

Jim didn't know Russian but assumed, based on the limo he saw parked out front and Martin's fancy get-up, that he was on his way to the Founder's Dinner.

 

“Will you be needing an escort to the museum? I have several officers on call.” Jim offered

 

“Would you stop pestering the kid?” Yuri spat

 

Jim rolled his eyes and ignored the mobster, “I have it on good authority that a hit has been put out on one of the attendees tonight.” Jim explained, “It's possible that an assassin could arrive at the Founder's Dinner to cause a lot of trouble.”

 

 _I'm not scared._ Martin lied. He may wear a brave face in front of everyone but, truthfully, bullets scared him. His experience with them was limited. The noise always startled him and the idea of a small piece of heated metal whizzing through the air so fast it would kill you didn't exactly help his nightmares. He much preferred knives. And fire.

 

“I know you're brave. Trust me. But...” Jim looked over the boy's features. Parts of him had hardened since the year prior. When Jim was first introduced to him early on in Oswald and Ed's trials, he seemed much more wide-eyed and innocent, “Wouldn't you rather stay home instead of going to a boring dinner with a bunch of high-society adults?”

 

Jim saw the crack in Martin's veneer. His eyes flickered to the floor and he started chewing on his bottom lip as he considered Jim's words. That innocent kid was still in there. He was just really good at hiding it most of the time.

 

“You're more than welcome to come have dinner with my family. We'd love to have you over.” Jim chuckled, “In fact, Barbara Lee talks about you a lot. She wouldn't mind seeing you.”

 

Martin considered it. Quickly weighing the pros and cons before responding, _I already told Miss Silverlock that I was coming._ Then he added, _I have to go for my father's legacy._

 

“Did Oswald put you up to this?” Jim tried not to growl

 

 _Up to what?_ Martin asked. His father had actually asked him not to go for a lot of the same reasons Jim seemed to not want him to go.

 

“Martin... I know you love your parents. But letting you be the face of Gotham's Underworld is a little much. Don't you think?” Jim grimaced. He knew that Oswald loved his son, but the idea of letting a kid as young as Martin being willingly thrown into harm's way didn't sit well with Jim.

 

_What do you care?_

 

“I promised I would do what I could to keep you safe.” Jim sighed. The memory of Oswald being hauled off in cuffs and screaming at him to protect the boy was still pretty fresh in his mind. Without thinking, Jim had yelled back “ _I promise, Oswald.”_ and that was that. The deal with the Devil was made and his fate was sealed.

 

_You also promised that my parents wouldn't go to jail._

 

Jim sighed, “I know. I'm doing what I can to get them out of there but these things take time.”

 

_You don't need to concern yourself with it._

 

“What do you mean?” Jim asked

 

_I know you won't keep your promises. So, there's no point in burdening yourself with it. I release you from your promise._

 

Jim swallowed. A sudden wave of deja vu washing over him as he recalled a similar conversation he once had with Bruce Wayne. The boy hadn't been much older than Martin was now. Jim had to admit that they actually had a lot in common.

 

Olga Dimitrov entered the room. Her presence seemed different somehow. Jim couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Though, he did notice how Yuri seemed to shrink the moment she stood next to him. Martin nodded his head towards Olga.

 

“Have a nice day, Commissioner.” Olga's accent dripped with dissent

 

This years Founder's Dinner was being held in a more open venue with heavier security. The last several dinners had been cursed with bad luck and his parents had advised him to consider an exit strategy should anything go awry. Luckily for him, The Gotham City Museum of Antiquities was fairly centralized with two separate entrances into the underground tunnels- one that led directly to the Iceberg Lounge and one that cut through the Old Gotham District and toward the Van Dahl estate.

 

Annabelle Silverlock, the host for that evening, had been ecstatic when Martin replied to the invitation. The Van Dahl family had attended the dinner for generations until the death of Elijah's father. After his suicide, his wife held Elijah close to her and urged him to never leave the house. Her paranoia rubbed off on the younger Van Dahl and he became a recluse.

 

However, Martin suspected that his attendance had more to do with the fact that he and his family had become household names in Gotham City. The Penguin and his son were the talk of the town and having Martin attend the dinner would surely get the attention of the press. Annabelle Silverlock was known for her lavish parties which was why she had been tasked to host the event. After last year's disaster, she was working towards making this year's dinner a much grander affair.

 

The Penguin commissioned a new tuxedo for his son from a French couture designer that The Riddler favored. His specialty being incorporating the most garish colors and fabrics and somehow making them look pleasing. That and also sewing in secret compartments for all manner of concealed weapons.

 

The tuxedo was similar to one Elijah had tailored for Oswald. The vest was black and gold and had a bow-tie to match. Martin made sure to proudly display the gold and emerald penguin on his lapel- a gift from his fathers on his eleventh birthday.

 

He certainly looked the part. But he felt horribly out of place without his parents there with him. He could picture them clearly in his mind. The Penguin bedecked in his signature purple and monocle. The Riddler in a striking suit of green. They deserved to be at that dinner. Moreso than he ever did. But, he would have to go in their stead and pray that he didn't make a fool of himself.

 

His anxiety about disappointing either of them was a relentless one. He had plenty of letters and had received numerous words of encouragement from both of them. They always assured him that he was loved and anything but a disappointment. But, those fears never left him. Not completely.

 

He felt even more out of place as dinner was served. Everyone was given a place card at one of the round tables scattered around the room. Martin's card is at the Elliot's table. Martha Elliot asked him how he's enjoying the evening and, for a moment, Martin was happy to engage in some kind of conversation. However, he was disappointed to find that she had grown impatient waiting for him to write his response. No one at the table asked him anything else. So he ate in silence.

 

Roger Elliot, the eldest member of the family, was discussing finances with his nephew. Martin had always been good with numbers and that skill only increased with age. He was able to do complex equations in his head. So, it didn't take him long to discover that some of the numbers Derek Elliot was quoting to the older man were inaccurate. If Martin was correct- which he often was- there was about two million dollars unaccounted for. His suspicions were confirmed when Roger Elliot pulled out a calculator, punched in some numbers, and then glared at his nephew.

 

Martin wondered how often the younger Elliot had a habit of stealing money. Perhaps he could use it for blackmail later. The Elliot's were an influential family in Gotham and he was certain that his father could put that information to good use.

 

Martin and the others finished their meals without any disruption. It seemed the evening was going to pass them by without hassle. The adults in attendance were all drinking expensive champagne and conversing with one another. Martin, despite having eaten already, had stolen a platter of hors d'oeuvres. He flittered around the room gathering small snippets of information from the mingling crowds. A few dirty secrets here and there would at least make this boring event worth his time and effort.

 

He wandered down a hall with a plate of discarded green olives and was relieved to find that no one had walked down this section of the museum. He needed some quiet. The constant chatter and clinking of glasses was like a constant static in his ears. He needed to escape. At least for a few merciful minutes.

 

Martin looked up at the plaque on the wall. In bronze, embossed letters it read _Kean Exhibit._ It was filled with old artifacts and books from Barbara Kean's private collection. How she came across them was a mystery. Old statues, suits of armor, ancient weapons, and even a painting containing a portrait of a woman who looked a lot like Miss Kean herself.

 

The exhibit itself didn't interest Martin. What _was_ interesting, was the girl looking over the books displayed inside a large glass case at the far end of the room. Martin recognized Verity Silverlock immediately.

 

Martin locked eyes with her. She looked the same as she did in school. Her hair still cut just below her ears and her eyes just as vibrantly pink. Her skin bordered on translucent. Long strings of sapphires framed her face. Her dress was made of a high-end velvet that was slightly iridescent. No doubt she was dolled up in such a way as to impress the other attendees. She normally wouldn't be caught dead in such lavish threads. She often wore jeans and an old t-shirt.

 

“Well... if it isn't the Prince of Cardy.” she remarked, smugly, “Did you get bored too?”

 

Martin nodded his head, _Are any of those books interesting?_

 

“Kind of. They're missing a lot of pages. So, they're not really all that interesting. Just old.” she frowned, “I was hoping I could find one in particular, but I guess it's not here.”

 

 _What are you looking for?_ He wrote

 

“A book.” She replied. Her arms crossed

 

 _Obviously._ Martin rolled his eyes.

 

“It's an old one... handwritten. My mother says that it's called The Book of Old Gotham.”

 

Martin tilted his head curiously.

 

_What's so special about it that you would sneak away from the party to find it?_

 

“It belongs to my family.” she said, “But somebody stole it.”

 

 _Do you know who stole it?_ He asked, already knowing the answer. There was enough dust on that book when he found it that he knew it had been at the Van Dahl mansion for quite some time.

 

“You ask a lot of questions, your highness.” She raised an eyebrow

 

Martin was about to respond when he heard a window open. He turned and saw another boy his age. His hair was blonde and he had dark circles under his eyes. His rugged and dirty appearance told Martin that he wasn't an attendee at the dinner.

 

“Luke!” Verity scolded, “What are you doing?”

 

“I came to crash your party!” He responded with a toothy grin, “Whose your friend?”

 

“This is Martin Van Dahl. The Prince of Cardy.” She presented him like some prized show dog

 

“This pipsqueak is the Prince of Cardy Boarding School?” Luke scoffed, unimpressed. Martin glared.

 

“Don't let him fool you.” she leaned in and whispered, “His dad is the Penguin.”

 

Luke's eyes suddenly sparkled.

 

Luke had apparently met the Penguin during his time as mayor. Due to his father's new job working for the Silverlock's, Luke had to transfer schools. He hadn't made any friends and was so afraid of being bullied that he refused to interact with any of the other students. The Penguin, not at all happy at how isolated the boy was, walked up and introduced himself. He told Luke that he needed to give the other kids a chance and to just push them down the stairs if they bullied him. This advice proved useful when he found himself abandoned at Ma Gunn's School for Boys when he and his parents got separated during No Man's Land.

 

Luke's parents never returned. He wasn't sure if they died or if they simply left him. He had somehow managed to survive living on his own after the Cataclysm. When Gotham rejoined with the mainland, it had been Verity who found him. Luke and Verity had grown close when he first came to Gotham. His parents often let him play at the Silverlock estate while they worked and he and Verity would routinely get into trouble.

 

“You look ridiculous.” Luke commented on Verity's attire.

 

“My mom made me wear this. It's hot. I thought about spilling something on it just so I have an excuse to change. Oh! Here ya go.” Verity removed her sapphire earrings and placed them in the palm of Luke's hand, “That should take care of you for a while.”

 

“Won't your mom be mad that you lost these?” Luke asked, slightly taken aback by the weight of the expensive jewelry in his hand

 

“Nah. We have three identical pairs. I think she forgot how many we had and just kept buying them. I doubt she'd notice.” She waved her hand dismissively.

 

“Wanna blow this popsicle stand?” Luke asked, shoving the earrings into his jacket pocket

 

“Hell yeah!” Verity immediately took off her high-heels and started to climb out the window after Luke, “You coming, your highness?”

 

Martin blinked. And then blinked again. Was he getting invited to hang out with other kids? It had been a while before anyone his age had invited him to anything. He wasn't even sure how to play with other kids at this point. They probably only wanted him around because of who his parents were anyway. He swallowed and then shook his head.

 

“Suit yourself.” Verity shrugged and then left without another word.

 

Martin returned to the central ballroom at the museum. It was a much larger guest list than the previous year. Heads of state and even interim mayor, Sebastian Hady, was there. Mayor Hady made a point to shake Martin's hand before they entered the mostly private event and encouraged photos. However, when they made it inside the venue, Hady made a point to avoid Martin at all costs.

 

In fact, everyone seemed to be avoiding him. There had been an onslaught of camera flashes when Martin first arrived. The attendees to the Founder's Dinner were all lined up on the steps of the museum having their pictures taken in their opulent outfits. Many of them made sure to get their pictures taken with Martin just to say that they had. And so that they could make it look as though they were acquainted with the Penguin's son. Once they were inside the museum, everyone drifted off into their own groups and not one made any effort to interact with him.

 

Martin sighed and then stole another plate of hors d'oeuvres before resuming his people-watching. He noticed that the eldest representatives of the Founding Families had all gone into a back room that was currently being guarded by a tall man with slicked hair. There wasn't anything particularly interesting about the bodyguard aside from the fact that he was wearing a black mask and hadn't spoken a word to anyone.

 

Martin then turned his attention to Derek Elliot. He was sweating and constantly checking his watch. He would occasionally walk over to the masked guard and the locked door. But the guard just pushed him aside. Derek's leg was bouncing up and down and he had practically finished an entire bottle of champagne all on his own. After another thirty minutes of the same anxious routine, the man opened his phone and called his driver.

 

“I can't wait for them any longer. I need to leave. Now.” He said as he made his way towards the back door of the museum.

 

That's when Martin spotted a familiar face in the crowd. He stood out among the tuxedos and elegant gowns but, had they been on the streets outside, he would have blended in with the rest of the criminals. Martin could tell he had body armor under his entire black ensemble. He also knew that he probably had piano wire in the breast pocket of his snakeskin vest and was most certainly wielding more guns than just the two silver pistols tucked away in his shoulder harness.

 

“Gotta say... this party really doesn't live up to the hype.” The bald man shook his head in disappointment, “Figured there would at least be music.”

 

Derek Elliot, upon seeing the infamous Victor Zsasz, screamed and ran. Victor smirked and immediately gave chase. Like a vulture stalking a dying animal.

 

The crowd scattered as Zsasz jumped onto a table and began shooting down the hallway that Derek Elliot was hiding in. The security guards all had their guns trained on the assassin but were quickly dispatched in a hail of gunfire. The moment three of them fell to the ground, the rest fled or hid behind tables to await backup.

 

Wood splintered in a whirlwind of mayhem. The loud crack of bullets and the screaming of patrons erupted in one cacophonous sound. Zsasz smiled as he looked around the room. His target was only one man and the chaos had been entirely unnecessary, but Victor couldn't help by be pleased with himself.

 

He jumped down from his perch atop the table, swatted away some splinters on his shoulder, and made for the hallway. Martin could hear Yuri Dimitrov calling to him from the front entrance, but the boy chose to ignore him and pursue the two men.

 

“You know, your uncle is a real asshole. Put the hit out on you himself.” Zsasz gave Derek Elliot a look that expressed his pity, “Was it worth the extra two million in your pocket?”

 

Two shots were fired- one slightly before the other. As Derek Elliot's body sagged to the floor, Victor became increasingly aware of a searing hot pain in his leg. He looked down and saw blood pooling under his boots. Derek had gotten a lucky shot. A small kink in the body armor. Small enough for a single bullet fired from the gun Zsasz had just noticed in the dead man's hand.

 

“Shit...” Zsasz leaned against the wall. His leg could no longer support his weight like it was supposed to. He didn't have time to deal with it as he heard footsteps approaching.

 

As Martin rounded the corner, he found the barrel of a silver, semi-automatic Colt Government pistol aimed directly at him. It wasn't the first time he had a gun pointed at him and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He would normally be scared but he knew that the person on the other end of that gun would never pull the trigger. Victor smirked as he recognized the kid.

 

“Don't sneak up on me like that.” Victor scolded him

 

Martin looked down at the bleeding wound in Victor's leg. There would be no way he could outrun the police in that condition.

 

 _Let me help you._ Martin wrote. The police sirens were getting louder as they approached the museum.

 

“No offense... but how exactly can you help me?” Victor furrowed his brow. He heard rumors about the Little Penguin but he hadn't had the privilege of seeing him in action.

 

Martin hastily drew a map on his notepad that showed the nearest entrance to the tunnels beneath the Old Gotham District. He tore the page out of his book and handed it to the hitman without hesitation. He would deal with the repercussions from his father at a later time.

 

“For real?” Zsasz made a face like he wasn't convinced.

 

Martin responded by rolling his eyes and then angrily gestured towards the nearest door.

 

“Okay! Okay. I'm goin. No need to get your feathers all ruffled.” Zsasz stumbled to the nearest window and made his way towards the alley.

 

Martin quickly grabbed one of the spare tablecloths and wiped the blood away from the tile. It wasn't perfect but it was enough to at least delay the GCPD long enough for Victor Zsasz to make his escape. He made sure to text Yuri and ask him to send word to the cleanup crew. He needed any blood in the alley to be cleared away so that the GCPD didn't stumble upon the tunnel entrance.

 

The rest of the evening went about as expected. Commissioner Gordon arrived with his men and questioned all of the attendees. He paid special attention to Martin's statement. Jim Gordon knew there was more to his story but Martin gave him no other reason to continue questioning him. When Jim started to get frustrated, Martin made a point to start crying. Interim Mayor Hady was quick to point out Gordon's unnecessary questioning of the young boy in front of everyone- including journalists from the Gotham Gazette. Jim just cleared his throat, apologized, and then made himself scarce. Though, Martin knew he would probably make an appearance at the Van Dahl manor at some point the following day.

 

Until then, Martin was tired. He had fallen asleep in the back of the limo. In part due to Olga running her fingers through his hair and singing to him- just as Mr. Cobblepot had asked her to should the boy wear himself out and require some motherly comfort. She had been outside waiting for him that entire time with the Dimitrov Family on call in case something happened. However, Martin handled it all on his own and there had been no need to call reinforcements. She wasn't surprised but, in moments like these, she was reminded of how young he was.

 

Part of her didn't think it was right to allow him to have the freedom that he had. Nor the responsibilities. It was what he wanted, sure. He craved validation and was always waiting for the next mission or puzzle his fathers would throw his way. But he was still just a boy. She knew what living in a crime family at such a young age did to a person. She didn't want that for Martin. But, sadly, that was an inevitability.

 

Back at the manor, Olga nudged Martin awake. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stumbled out of the back of the limo. Yuri had been the one driving. They shared a glare. Yuri started to open his mouth but then swallowed whatever snide remark he had when he caught sight of Olga and the Dimitrov Family ring on her finger.

 

The ring had been a gift from the Penguin after the events with Sofia. It had been kept in a safety deposit box. The wearer was revered as the head of the crime family and the Penguin made sure that it found its way to the elder Dimitrov. No one questioned her right to that title. Not even Yuri.

 

They made it to the foyer before they noticed something was wrong. Olga pulled Martin close to her and nodded her head towards her nephew. Noises could be heard in the kitchen. Though, they were all a little confused by the lack of barking. Edward the dog hadn't been partial to strangers being in the house. However, it was possible he could have been distracted by his favorite cuts of meat. The pooch was easily swayed by his stomach.

 

Martin and Olga looked on as Yuri stalked down the hall and toward the kitchen. They watched as he came around the corner and pointed his gun at the unseen intruder. He cocked his head to the side at the sight in front of him before lowering his gun and waving his aunt and boss over.

 

Victor Zsasz was currently chugging a carton of milk while perched up on the counter. His armored jacket has been removed and his leg was wrapped in bandages. Edward the dog, of course, was happily wagging his tail and gnawing on a steak.

 

“Heyo.” The bald man waved

 

Olga clicked her tongue, “No manners. At least use glass.”

 

“Sorry 'bout that.” Victor smiled and then pulled a glass from the cabinet behind him, “Thanks for saving me, kid.”

 

 _You're welcome._ He wrote, _Why are you here?_ He added

 

“Thought I'd help myself.” he gulped down a healthy amount of the milk, “It's my secret to why I've never had any broken bones.” He winced as he pulled himself down from the kitchen counter. Blood soaked through the bandages on his injured leg. A pair of pliers, a bullet, and a bloody stapler were all lined up on the counter. Martin would have to call Lee Gordon later to make sure he hadn't done more damage to his wounds.

 

_Why are you really here?_

 

Victor sighed, “I know we've had some rough times... me kidnapping you and all. But...” he was standing directly in front of Martin now. Olga and Yuri had their guns trained on him but he didn't seem phased by them, “I was kinda hoping you'd let me work for you.”

 

“Oh, please. Like we'd ever let you-”

 

“-I was talking to the kid. Not _you._ ” Zsasz pressed his forehead to the barrel of Yuri's gun, clearly unafraid of the Russian.

 

“You're not just gonna let this guy waltz in here and just...” Yuri's voice trailed away as all three sets of eyes glared in his direction, making him feel incredibly small. He was in no position to be making statements like that.

 

Victor rolled his eyes, “So? You just gonna leave me hangin?”

 

Martin signed to Olga who smiled, “I get room ready.”

 

“I take that as a yes?” Victor watched as Olga left to go prepare a bed upstairs

 

Martin nodded his head.

 

“No hard feelings about Sofia?” Zsasz asked, slightly hesitant

 

Martin shook his head and smiled.

 

“Awesome.” Zsasz wore a goofy grin, “So I hear you're the big guy in town!”

 

Yuri scoffed.

 

“Is there a problem?” Victor raised a brow

 

“People _usually_ assume it's me.” Yuri wore a weird sense of pride whenever Gotham's underworld mistakenly granted him the distinction. It was only because they wrongfully assumed the person Penguin had entrusted Gotham to wasn't a kid. Which, to be fair... he hadn't. Not exactly.

 

“Good.” Victor finished his glass of milk, leaving a large amount of it on his upper lip, “That means _you'll_ be the one with the bullet in your head instead of the Boss.”

 

Victor followed Olga upstairs and gave a gratified sigh at the room he'd been given. It was the same room Oswald Cobblepot had let him crash in on occasion back when he worked for him. He assumed that was why Olga had chosen it for him.

 

He threw himself face-first on the bed. God, a _real_ bed. Not a cot stowed away in a corner of a safehouse or an old moldy couch. But an actual bed. He wasn't certain how long he was welcome at the Van Dahl mansion. Once Cobblepot found out, he was fairly certain that Russian guy with the annoying face would probably be given the order to get rid of him. But he was going to enjoy it in the meantime.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor Zsasz joins the party! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	8. Uncle Zsasz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Active warnings for this chapter: Suicide Attempt and Self Harm (Not sure if anyone is familiar with the comic canon of Victor Zsasz but there is a fair bit of that in his back story). There is also a brief moment of homophobic language.
> 
> This chapter is slightly different than the other chapters and will be a bit of a character study. It also bounces back and forth between flashbacks and present day. Hopefully, I kept it from being too confusing. There will be more plot-related stuff in the next chapter.
> 
> I also make a few references to things that have happened in ["Our Home in Gotham"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354426/chapters/46046548)

Sailing on his father's yacht and getting paraded in front of business associates was not how Victor Schopenhauer wanted to spend his eighteenth birthday. He assumed this was some sort of punishment for the argument they had earlier that week when Victor announced he got accepted into Gotham University. His father was frustrated by his _'lack of ambition.'_ He could have easily bought his way into any college of his choosing but Victor insisted on not leaving Gotham. Victor didn't see what all of the fuss was about. What was the point of going to some big-shot college? They're all the same anyway.

 

No one stops Victor as he mixes a cocktail for himself at the bar. The only person who bats an eye is his mother. But, Victor is fairly certain that her expression had more to do with her near-constant hangover and the brightness of the sun. The over-sized sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat that made her look like a movie star couldn't shield her from the pounding in her head. Victor suppressed the desire to laugh in her face. She always pretended to be a pious and virtuous woman when, in reality, she was just as wretched as the rest of the Gothamites.

 

Victor pretended not to hear his mother scoff at him as he drank the pineapple juice straight from the bottle. He ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair and winced when he felt his nails drag across the bald spot he was trying to hide under his G.U. cap.

 

“How is the birthday boy?” One of his father's business partners spoke, “How does it feel to be a man finally?”

 

“Not any different from last year.” Victor rolled his eyes

 

“Surely you must feel excited to be moving up in the world? You'll be going to college soon. Where have you been accepted? Princeton? Columbia?”

 

“Gotham U.” Victor replied, finishing off the pineapple juice

 

“...Oh. I see. And why-”

 

“-The old man wants me to learn the ins and outs of business in Gotham. So, why would I leave Gotham to learn those things? It makes more sense to stay in town and keep my ear to the ground, ya know?”

 

Victor knew that wasn't a satisfactory answer for anyone. His father especially. He never saw Victor as anything more than a caricature of his son. The perfect little businessman in a canary-colored polo shirt who fit inside the box his father built for him. He claimed Victor had no ambition. But Victor did have dreams. He aspired for more. For a life. Just not the life his father wanted for him.

 

“Your son certainly has an interesting perspective.” the man said

 

“Yes. He does.” Victor's father shook his head

 

“I think your son is wiser than you give him credit for.” Another man spoke from the opposite side of the bar. Victor turned and observed him. He was broad-shouldered. Rather intimidating for a simple businessman. He was olive-skinned with dark eyes. Bald, just like Victor would be someday. Though, judging by the dark lashes and five o'clock shadow on the other man, he chose to look that way. This was a man who craved attention. Who wanted to stand out in a crowd.

 

“How wise can he be?” Victor's father scoffed

 

“Wise enough that I think your company will be in good hands when you choose to retire.” the bald man smiled, “He's right about staying in touch with the economy of Gotham. It is a city with a rich history and deep pockets.” he reached his hand out to Victor, “Apologies. I never introduced myself. Alexander Luthor.”

 

“Nice to meet you.” Victor didn't take his hand and instead stirred the ice cubes in his cup

 

Victor's father continued talking about him as if he wasn't there. Any attempts he made to interject were met with his father's booming voice yelling over him. Eventually, Victor stopped listening to the mediocre business conversations in favor of staring out over the cartoonishly blue water. Victor always hated the beaches in Metropolis. Everything was too bright. Too polished. Even the seagulls were shiny.

 

He handed his empty cocktail glass to a man whose name he didn't bother remembering. He could hear his father calling out to him but he couldn't make out the words. Everything sounded distant and muffled. Like his head was in a barrel.

 

...It sounded even more distant under the water. He didn't remember walking off the edge of the boat but he was sinking now. The boat was becoming smaller and smaller as he sank further down. He could hear the muffled scream of his mother through the water. His father also screamed but he sounded more angry than concerned. He just closed his eyes and prayed to whatever god his mother pretended to believe in during Shabbat that he would continue to sink and drown.

 

* * *

 

Victor stared down at the breakfast in front of him. Olga remembered how voracious his appetite was when he came to the mansion. She made him a breakfast befitting a king. Or, at least, befitting a friend of a friend of a king. A plate of bacon, sausage, a french-styled omelet, brioche and cream, fruit salad, a tall glass of milk, and buttercream frosted cupcakes with sprinkles. He didn't even have this much food when he still lived with his parents. He wasn't going to complain though. All he had eaten the last several weeks were some leftover MREs, some canned beans, and a single cup of peaches he'd been savoring for as long as he could.

 

Martin was happily devouring his own plate and feeding scraps of bacon and sausage to the chubby bulldog at his feet. Victor liked seeing him happy. When they first interacted, Martin had been scared of him. So, when the Penguin wasn't in his office, he would put on some disco and make a fool of himself dancing and singing to allay the kid's anxiousness. It worked. He actually heard the kid laugh a few times.

 

Which made his betrayal all the more painful. Martin had willingly taken his hand and skipped to the car. It wasn't until they were pulling into the driveway of the Falcone mansion that Martin understood what was going on. The look he gave Zsasz broke his heart but he didn't allow it to show on his face. As far as Victor was concerned, the Penguin had murdered the man he considered a father and then lied about it. Even went so far as to say that his hands were clean. It made Victor want to throw up. The only reason he didn't put a bullet in his head was because Martin was there. That and he didn't have any hard evidence linking Cobblepot to the hit on Falcone.

 

The Martin in front of him now was... interesting. Victor knew all about the gunfight at the Iceberg Lounge and that Martin had personally dealt with Sofia Falcone. Victor had a hard time believing it at first until Martin showed him the Sofia popsicle that was still in the basement of the Lounge. Any normal kid would be mortified by the idea, but not Martin. He wore his smirk like a badge of pride.

 

Victor was impressed and more than willing to serve the Littlest Penguin in whatever way he could. But he knew what kind of world Martin was getting roped into. Victor had willingly fallen down that hole and emerged a new person. All of them had. The Penguin. The Riddler... But, Victor had reservations about letting it happen to Martin. He was a good egg. It was hard watching his shell slowly crack.

 

He's most of the way through the cupcake when a knock comes at the door. Old habits die hard as Victor readies his gun under the table. He's surprised when a young looking woman walks into the room. Martin smiles at her and pulls out his notepad.

 

_This is Doctor Quinzel._

 

“I'm not a doctor yet, silly!” she scrunched up her nose and ruffled Martin's hair, “You must be Victor?” she held out her hand.

 

She was young. Blonde. In her early twenties. Her accent placed her as a New York native. Victor had doubts that she grew up anywhere near Gotham City. Her eyes still sparkled. She certainly wasn't the type of girl you'd see at the Penguin's mansion.

 

Victor faked a smile but didn't bother shaking her hand, “Cupcake?”

 

“Sure! I haven't had breakfast yet.” she laughed, happily taking the baked treat

 

_Miss Quinzel is my therapist._

 

“You have a therapist?” Victor grimaced

 

 _Father thought it was a good idea._ Martin shrugged

 

“I was assigned to Mister Cobblepot during his trial. I had met Martin a few times and his family thought it would be good for him to get some counseling while they were away.” Quinzel explained

 

Martin finished his breakfast and announced that he would be right back, leaving Victor with the young woman and a plate full of sweets.

 

“You're not from around here.” Victor eventually spoke

 

“No. I grew up in Brooklyn.”

 

“What brings you to Gotham? No offense, but you stick out.”

 

“No offense taken. I'm getting my master's degree at Gotham University.” she explained

 

“Does Dr. Carrigan Weiss still teach psychology there?” he asked

 

“She does! She's actually mentoring me. Did you study with her?” she asked

 

“Not really. I just sat in on her lectures while I was there.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, “No offense, but you don't look like the college grad type.” she wrinkled her nose at her own snide remark. Victor couldn't help but chuckle at how endearing it was. If she wasn't careful, she was going to catch the attention of someone she shouldn't.

 

“I never actually graduated. Didn't see the point.”

 

“Why did you go to college in the first place?” she asked

 

“Dad made me. Wanted me to pursue business like him.”

 

“And did you?” She already knew the answer to that question based on the fact that he was wearing Kevlar and an assortment of gun holsters.

 

“Sort of. Entrepreneurship! My first investor was Don Carmine Falcone.” Victor smiled widely. This woman was either going to run screaming or continue to indulge him in this rare moment of transparency, “You'd be amazed how much money you can make being an assassin for hire.”

 

He could tell that her heart rate increased. But her face didn't falter, “You're an assassin?”

 

“The best in the business.” He took another bite of his cupcake

 

“I would expect nothing less from Mister Cobblepot.” she smiled

 

Victor nodded, “You're an interesting woman, Miss Quinzel.”

 

“I try.” she looked him over for a moment before speaking again, “You seemed confused when Martin told you he was in therapy.”

 

“I just don't see the reason for it.” he confessed, “There's nothing wrong with him.”

 

“Anyone can choose to have therapy. It's not just for crazy people.” she joked, “You don't believe in treatment?”

 

“I don't exactly have the best experiences with it.” he admitted. He didn't. After his 'tantrum' that day on the yacht, his father forced him to take medications that fogged his brain and made him talk to therapists who refused to listen. His father was too concerned with drowning in embarrassment.

 

“That's a shame. Therapy offers us the ability to unpack all of our baggage. If I'm doing my job right, we can dissect it and learn from it.”

 

“And what happens when your patient is a _lost cause?_ ” Victor vaguely snarled at those last words. It was what his father often called him. What his therapist called him when they fired him as a client, “What happens when they don't want treatment? When they reject your diagnosis?”

 

“Then... we don't treat them.” she cocked her head to the side, “I can't perform miracles. If a client doesn't want to work with me, then that's on them. Though, I'd like to think that I am the kind of gal that people can open up to.”

 

“So... you gonna mail me a bill for our little talk?” Victor furrowed his brow. He'd said more than he meant to.

 

“Not at all. I'm just being friendly.” she chuckled, “Besides, Mister Cobblepot pays me quite well. He'll probably end up paying for my degree at this rate.”

 

Martin eventually came back into the dining area. He was no longer in his pajamas and had washed all of the buttercream from his face. Quinzel and Martin turned to leave the room when she stopped and turned towards Victor.

 

“Oh, and Mister Zsasz? There are no lost causes. Only people struggling through their lives.”

 

Yeah. She was _definitely_ not from Gotham.

 

* * *

 

This was the second week in a row that Victor skipped his therapy session. Like with most things in his life, he didn't see the point in going. No one ever listened to him. All they wanted to do was make ridiculous diagnoses and throw pills at him in hopes that he would act more _normal._

 

What was so abnormal about wanting to live your own life the way you wanted? He had no interest in the subjects he was required to take for the degree he didn't even want. So why was it so strange that he was depressed because of it? Boredom was depressing. Going to the arcade and sneaking into the underground Disco scene was a far better cure than anything found in an orange bottle.

 

He's been going to these therapy sessions for the better part of three years. In the beginning, he humored his family and attempted to open up to the small man they hired as a private counselor. But he was never able to form any sort of connection with the man. He was dismissive and routinely told Victor that he was crazy for his more Nihilistic thoughts and that he should put his energy into something productive for society. His doctor didn't much appreciate Victor's joke about becoming a superhero and killing off villains for the right price.

 

The more Victor thought about it, the more he genuinely liked that idea. He wasn't terrible with a gun and worked wonders with a knife when he went on hunting trips. He was certainly more skilled at killing things than he was managing insurance profits and attending board meetings.

 

Victor was perched atop his usual place. His legs freely swinging over the ledge of one of the dorm towers. It gave him the perfect view of the Southside of the campus. And, today, the view was particularly interesting.

 

“What's that, Nashon?” a large man in a fraternity jacket pushed a smaller, far less imposing brunette. The brunette had made some remark about the brute's low IQ which prompted the other man to knock his glasses from his face. The group that formed around the pair started shouting insults. “Faggot” and “Psycho” were among them.

 

Since he hadn't filled his “good guy quota” for the day, Victor picked up a chunk of brick from the rooftop and threw it at the leader of this particular gang of brutes. Bloodying his face. Victor cheered for himself at how precise his aim was.

 

“I'm gonna fucking kill you, Schopenhauer!” the muscular frat boy and his friends all ran through the front door of the dormitory. Victor wasn't too worried because he knew that the elevator was broken and the thick-headed oafs would have to climb six flights of stairs to reach the rooftop. Victor also knew that he could easily climb down the fire escape and be gone long before they realized.

 

The brunette with the broken glasses was wading through the GU fountain retrieving his book bag from the cold water. Victor sighed at the sight in front of him. He was going to get himself killed if he stayed in Gotham. Either that or he was going to have to magically transform into a whole new person.

 

Victor swiped an ice-cream sandwich from a nearby snack cart and tossed it to the brunette. The younger man stared at it in confusion.

 

“For your face.” Victor pointed to the man's blackened eye

 

“But... you stole it.” he stammered

 

“And?” Victor raised an eyebrow as he pulled a box of menthol cigarettes from the pocket of his leather jacket.

 

The man's jaw hung open slightly and, for a moment, he looked like he was going to protest Victor's blatant rule-breaking. He sighed and then placed the cool confection over his swollen eye, “Thank you.”

 

“Edward Nashton, right?”

 

“Y-yes...” Edward swallowed, “And you're Victor Schopenhauer.”

 

“Aw, I must be special for you to know my name.” Victor said, offering Edward a cigarette that he fervently declined.

 

“Out of thin air, I form in an instant and I can last a lifetime. What am I?”

 

“A cloud.” Victor gave the riddle no thought at all. He figured Edward would give him the answer anyway so why bother putting in the effort to answer correctly?

 

“I... what? No!” Edward clenched his eyes shut in mild frustration and then immediately winced at the pain, “Memory. The answer is _memory._ I remembered you from class.”

 

“We share a class?” Victor asked. He never bothered showing up to any of his classes. He usually just wandered around campus and ducked into lectures that interested him at that particular moment. Truthfully, he saw no reason to worry over an expensive piece of paper in the first place. He was going to inherit his father's company with or without it. So, he figured he might as well enjoy the college experience. Go to parties, get shit-faced, and rescue cute brunette boys from bullies twice his size.

 

“Psychology.” Edward adjusted his glasses, “Though... you don't show up for class much.”

 

“Oh yeah.” Victor grinned. He wasn't enrolled in the class but he sat in on lectures often. He even bought the books for that class and read them in his spare time. His favorite was _The Myth of Mental Illness_ by Thomas Szász.

 

He gave Edward a look over. He was tall with shaggy brown hair and deep eyes. This was only his first semester but he had already tested out of most of his classes and enrolled in more advanced studies. He had even managed to secure a work-study position at the Gotham City Police Department as a forensic assistant. When he wasn't at work, he was in the chemistry lab. He even slept there most nights.

 

Victor noticed that his clothes were ill-fitting. He could tell that underneath the layers of green flannel that he was skinnier than he should be. His diet consisted of take-out and whatever he could afford from the vending machine- which wasn't much. His sleeves were still rolled up from fishing his books out of the fountain which revealed a multitude of bruises. Some older than others.

 

“Here.” Victor pulled his AFO Tanto switchblade from his pocket and handed it to Edward

 

“W-why are you giving me that?” Edward asked, marveling at the expensive-looking knife

 

“In case those assholes come back.”

 

“I really don't-”

 

“Just take it.” Victor used a more authoritative tone with an edge of annoyance. He didn't give gifts often and the knife was brand new. He wasn't sure why he was giving it to the scrawny brunette but he felt it was right. And it's not like he couldn't just buy another one.

 

Edward gulped and took the knife. He wasn't entirely sure what to do with it so he just shoved it in his pocket. He stifled his nervousness by logically considering all of the _other_ useful reasons to keep a knife handy.

 

“See ya around!” Victor took the partially melted icecream sandwich from Edward's other hand and walked away.

 

A week later, Victor received the news that his parents had died and he never returned to campus.

 

* * *

 

The newly renovated wing at Arkham was mostly vacant. The rooms with actual occupants were few and far between and, most disturbingly, it was practically silent. Victor noticed a few patients talking to themselves in the hall as he passed but, even then, it wasn't above a whisper. The last time he had been there, he was tossing bullets around with Headhunter and trying to kill Oswald.

 

“Tony Smith?” A young man stopped him in the hall. He couldn't have been much older than Miss Quinzel. His eyes were sunken and his blonde hair was pulled back. He was wearing a white coat with the name _Dr. Crane_ embossed on his name tag, “The visitor's desk informed me that you are here to visit Mister Nygma.”

 

“I am.” Victor looked around the waiting area and noticed that all of the orderlies seemed dazed and didn't seem like they could even see the two of them properly. He almost felt silly for using a different name.

 

“I'm _afraid_ he's in solitary at the moment. He isn't allowed to have visitors right now.” He narrowed his gaze

 

Victor only vaguely recognized him from the handful of interactions they had during No Man's Land. It was odd seeing him without the burlap sack on his head that he called a mask. Whatever spell the employees at Arkham were under that let a man like the Scarecrow run around impersonating a doctor was something else.

 

“Can I see him anyway? It's kind of important. Has to do with his kid.”

 

Jonathon Crane considered his request and then gestured for Victor to follow him. They walked down a few narrow corridors and descended a poorly lit staircase that led to the basement. Victor was beginning to wonder if he had just been dragged into some trap and was about to get experimented on when the door to his lab flung open, revealing a giggly Edward Nygma speaking to Jervis Tetch.

 

“Ah. That explains the doctors.” Victor pointed at the Mad Hatter, “So... what? Are you three planning on escaping?”

 

“Why would we tell you, Victor? We'd sooner feed you our newest elixir!” Tetch's eyes darkened and his tone grew more sing-songy.

 

“Why _are_ you here?” Edward interjected before Tetch could get too excited at the prospect of having a new plaything

 

“He said he had something important to tell you that concerns Martin.” Scarecrow locked the door to his hidden laboratory. No one ever came down to disturb them, but one could never be too careful.

 

Edward practically flew over the table in front of him, “What's wrong? Is he okay? Is he hurt?”

 

“Calm down, Boss.” Victor made a face, “He's fine. For now.”

 

“For now?” Edward glared, “Sofia Falcone is as good as dead. Her men are either rotting at the bottom of the river or work for Oswald. If you're here to avenge the Falcone Family you-”

 

“-Can we talk? Alone?” Victor rolled his eyes

 

The Scarecrow and Hatter looked to each other and then back to Edward. No one budged until Ed nodded. When they finally left the room, Victor let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

 

“Sorry. Those guys are seriously freaky.” Victor shivered, “I couldn't think straight with them here.”

 

“They grow on you.” Edward shrugged, “Now, what do you want?”

 

“Is having Martin run the underworld really the best idea?” Victor sounded angrier than he intended

 

Edward sighed, “It isn't. He's chosen to do a lot of this on his own.”

 

“And you're just gonna let him?”

 

“What else am I supposed to do?”

 

“I dunno. Be a parent?” Victor growled

 

“He doesn't exactly come with a manual!” Edward yelled, “Is that why you're here? To critique my parenting skills? Trust me, I do plenty of that without your help.”

 

“No... I'm here because the boy needs extra protection. Ever since No Man's Land, Gotham is a different animal. The people out here are bad news.”

 

“Aren't you his bodyguard?” Edward asked

 

“Yeah... but I haven't exactly gotten the all-clear from the Penguin or you. So... here I am.” Victor held his arms out like he was presenting himself on a stage

 

“Have you spoken to Oswald?” Edward glared, unamused

 

“Not yet.”

 

“So... you expect _me_ to name _you_ an ally so that you can manipulate him into allowing you back into our good graces?” Edward gestured between them with a sharp stabbing motion

 

“Yeah. I was kinda hoping that'd be how this works.” Victor walked around the lab and examined all of the different colored liquids out on the table. He suppressed a gag when he passed by a container of what looked like organs floating in some kind of milky liquid.

 

“You're doing all of this because you know he's just going to kill you the moment he gets out on parole.”

 

“You really think he would?” Victor's question was genuine. He had hoped that helping the Riddler get around Sofia's men and saving Martin would have been enough to spare him from a bullet.

 

“Who knows? Oswald's not the predictable type.” Ed shrugged

 

“Look... I know we've not been on the same side for a while. I just want to keep the kid safe. It's the least I could do for all of the awful things I've done to him and Cobblepot."

 

“Then you can ask him yourself. I have no interest in running the Underworld. That's all Oswald's game. How he chooses to run it and _who_ he chooses to run it is his decision.”

 

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender, “Alright. Alright... Just thought I'd cover my bases and come ask you too. You being his dad and all. Figured you'd have some say in who his bodyguard was.”

 

“I appreciate it...” Ed sighed, “I don't think you'll have to worry. I told Oswald everything the day I brought Martin home. He knows how you've helped us.”

 

“Good to know.” he smirked and decided to ask a question he'd been itching to ask for quite some time, “Out of thin air, I form in an instant and I can last a lifetime. What am I?”

 

“...a memory.” Edward went slack-jawed. The image of Victor Zsasz with dark hair and a different name flashed in his mind. He smiled, “I never thanked you for the knife.”

 

“You can thank me by not letting your boyfriend strangle me when the time comes.”

 

* * *

 

He played the part of the dutiful son at the funeral. Gotham Synagogue was filled with people Victor didn't recognize. Even the press was there to mourn the loss of the Schopenhauers. Of course, the real reason they were there was because they wanted to know who was going to be inheriting Schopenhauer Investments. Victor wasn't sure how to answer any of their questions. He just smiled and hoped his hair didn't fall out from the stress of it all.

 

There would be no more running from it. He felt like he was handcuffed to an amusement park ride and wasn't allowed to get off. He thought about changing his name. Leaving Gotham... but Gotham had him chained to its bedrock. He felt a strange pull and desire to stay that he couldn't fully explain. It was like he was meant to stay there and join the sea of ghosts that littered the streets.

 

Several months passed by without a word from Victor Schopenhauer or the status of the company. He didn't know the first thing about running it and frankly didn't care if it burned to the ground. He had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that his eyelashes had fallen out and it was harder to hide the quarter-sized bald spots on his head.

 

So, it came as a welcomed reprieve when his late father's business associate invited him to his office at LexCorp.

 

It was an all-expenses-paid trip across the water. Victor spent the evening prior to his meeting gambling in the lavish casino downstairs and flirting with any cute employee that caught his eye. He even wandered into a drag show down the street that reminded him of his favorite disco hangout back in Gotham. Partying with the misfits and garishly dressed rebels of Metropolis made him feel at home.

 

That following morning, he was greeted with a limo that chauffeured him to his destination on the opposite side of Metropolis. He enjoyed how oddly dressed he was compared to the professionally dressed businessmen and women in their thousand-dollar suits. Victor couldn't help but smile as he sported head-to-toe acid-washed denim and well-loved combat boots.

 

“Mr. Schopenhauer is here to see you, sir.” the young blonde office assistant in a dusty blue suit escorted him inside the high-ceiling office. Victor delighted in how the man blushed when Victor winked at him. Almost as much as he delighted in the fact that he could openly flirt with other men without having to explain it to his father later.

 

“Victor.” Luthor gave him a fake smile. One that probably looked charming to anyone who wasn't used to dealing with CEOs, “Are you enjoying your trip? I picked the hotel myself.”

 

“It's been fun.” he shrugged, “I haven't been here since the folks died.”

 

“Yes. I am so sorry for your loss.” Luthor placed a hand on his shoulder, “Please. Take a seat.”

 

Victor sat down in the Bauhaus styled leather chair facing Luthor's desk. It was built more for style than for comfort, much to Victor's dismay. He didn't plan on staying long anyway so he figured he could pretend to be polite for the time being.

 

“I wanted to discuss your father's company with you.” Lex stared out over the Metropolis skyline. It was more pristine and the sky was less dingy than the view over Gotham. Victor turned his nose up at the fake-looking utopia, “You're father was a brilliant man. Though, I get the feeling he knew more about business than he did about fatherhood.”

 

“He definitely wasn't the world's best dad.” Victor bit the inside of his cheek

 

“He only wanted what was best for you. Even if that meant stifling your own creative expertise.” he leaned on his desk and crossed his arms. He was trying to give the impression that he was looming over Victor. But Victor wasn't intimidated, “You never wanted to follow in his footsteps. So, I am offering to lift that burden from you-”

 

“-Cool. It's yours.” Victor said, already bored and ready to go home and drown himself in booze.

 

“Come again?” Lex Luthor blinked

 

“The company. You can have it.” Victor pulled a pen from his jacket pocket, “What papers do I have to sign to get this over with?”

 

“You aren't going to put up a fight for your father's legacy?” Luthor was still stunned

 

“Nope. Why would I?” he arched an eyebrow, “I never wanted it in the first place.”

 

Lex Luthor laughed and he pressed a button on his office phone and instructed the secretary outside to send his lawyer and accountant upstairs. He walked over to a bar nook in the corner of the room. He filled two glasses with an expensive smelling liquor and handed one glass to Victor.

 

“You know, I don't know what I expected.” Luthor shook his head, “I guess I thought you would put up more of a struggle.”

 

“Did you intend to blackmail me? Frame me for my parent's murder?” Victor took a drink of the whiskey. It wasn't sweet enough for his taste. He didn't bother hiding the disgruntled look on his face.

 

“Murder? They died in a boating accident.” Luthor raised an eyebrow

 

“I guess so.”

 

The accident didn't sit well with him. His dad loved that yacht. More than him or even his mother. He took good care of it. Why would it suddenly sink for no reason? Victor took another drink of the amber liquid and looked out over the skyline. He could see the obnoxious globe atop the Daily Planet building and, if he squinted hard enough, he could see the harsh black line that was Gotham City just on the other side of the water.

 

“So, where is life going to take you next?” Luthor asked, taking his seat at the large pristine desk. Everything in LexCorp tower was hard edges. Modern. Made of white enamel and polished steel.

 

“Thought I'd start a business all my own.”

 

“Entrepreneurship.” Luthor smiled, “Should I expect competition in the following years?”

 

“Nah. My clientele will be pretty niche. Doubt I'd cross paths with you.”

 

“That's good. I'd hate to have to get in your way.”

 

Victor signed all of the papers he needed to. He didn't bother reading them, but he knew that most of his father's assets and fortune would get absorbed into LexCorp. He had already resigned himself to living off of what little inheritance his father had left him that wasn't connected to the company. It wouldn't last forever but he could live comfortably for a while.

 

“Oh... and, just one question.” Victor stopped himself in the entryway as he was leaving. His hands were on the knife hidden in his pocket.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Did you kill my parents?” Victor's bluntness would have cut through smoke had the room been filled with it.

 

Lex Luthor's eyes darkened as he considered Victor for a moment. His fingers twitched and Victor wondered if he had a gun tucked away in his desk drawer. Hell, he _knew_ there was one there. Luthor seemed the type.

 

“Have a safe trip back to Gotham, Mr. Schopenhauer.” was all Luthor said. It was all he needed to say.

 

* * *

 

The weather is obnoxiously bright in Gotham that day. Which is why Lark thought it would be a good day to move Martin's studies outdoors for a change. Zsasz wasn't the biggest fan. It was easier to protect Martin within the confines of the mansion. Outside, they were sitting ducks. And the forest just on the edge of the property gave him the creeps. He always felt like someone was watching them.

 

Victor looked on as Lark and Martin practiced archery in the field by the mansion. The bow was a Recurve with a 20-pound draw. But, even that proved to be too much of an effort for Martin to master right away. Victor remembered all of the long days that he and Lark would get drunk and fling arrows at various targets around the Falcone estate. Victor's favorite game was to shoot straight up and then try and dodge the arrow as it came back down near his feet. A dangerous game of chicken that he reveled in. Always toying with his own life without a care in the world. He wondered if he and Martin would do the same when he got older.

 

“So how is the teacher life treating you?” Victor asked his old friend and colleague. He had come to sit beside victor while Martin practiced his archery.

 

“Well enough. It's honestly not much different than that time I taught you when you came to work for Falcone. Well, except Martin is considerably younger.”

 

“You still working at Gotham Academy?” Victor asked

 

“No. The Riddler asked me to transfer to Cardy to help keep an eye on Martin. I couldn't argue with the pay increase.” he chuckled at the memory of the day he received that phone call, “Now I work with Martin fulltime as his tutor.”

 

“And bodyguard, I assume?” Victor eyed the distinct outline of a gun holstered at his side

 

“When the need arises. Yes.”

 

“Doesn't this all seem crazy to you? Letting a kid be in charge of all of that?”

 

“He's not really. The Penguin is still running the empire from inside his cell. Martin has volunteered to be an intermediary to ease the process. It also gives him valuable insight into how the Family functions.”

 

“The Penguin really plans for the kid to inherit his mess?”

 

Lark stared at him for a moment before bursting out into laughter.

 

“What so damn funny?” Victor gritted his teeth

 

“You see yourself in him, don't you?” Lark asked

 

“I guess... Yeah. Maybe a little.”

 

“Which is why you are having a hard time grasping why he isn't more willing to go out and carve his own path as you did. You don't want to see his potential wasted on preserving his father's legacy.”

 

Victor bit the inside of his cheek, “I would just hate to see him get hurt.”

 

“No one wants him to get hurt. Penguin and Riddler especially. And, _believe me_ , they tried keeping him out of it. The little bugger just jumped right in! He's a natural and refuses to have it any other way. We have to respect that.”

 

“But he's a _kid.”_

 

“And this is the mob!” Lark swallowed and hoped that Martin hadn't been paying attention to his mentor and bodyguard arguing, “It isn't our place to dictate how he lives his life. This is the life he's chosen. If he survives, we will be there to celebrate alongside him. If he gets hurt... we'll be there beside him as well. That is the life _we've_ chosen.”

 

 

Victor isn't sure why he's wandering through Gotham Cemetery. His feet just dragged him there after his conversation with Lark. He hated how right he was. He didn't consider himself a controlling person. That was more the MO of Penguin. But, it was hard not to want some sort of control over Martin. He wanted to protect him. He wanted to knock the kid out with chloroform and stick him on a plane to live with a nice family in Ohio or something.

 

He rubs his eyes for a moment because he thinks he's seeing things. When he looks around and recognizes the plot and the familiar Willow tree his mother planted, he realizes where he's standing. At his feet were a row of headstones. One for Thomas Schopenhauer, one for Lucille Schopenhauer... and one for Victor Schopenhauer.

 

Don Falcone must have been responsible for that third headstone. Victor wondered if the casket was empty or if some unfortunate soul was tied up and buried alive under the cold grave dirt. He assumed the ladder was true because Don Falcone didn't like wasting a perfectly good hole in the ground.

 

* * *

 

Victor only ever felt like himself at his favorite clubs. There, he wasn't Victor Schopenhauer. He was just Victor. Clad in leather and dancing on tabletops with the queer and deviant.

 

Victor couldn't remember the last time he stepped foot in the Schopenhauer mansion. He stopped paying the staff a long time ago and knew that it was probably condemned or even bought by another wealthy family in Gotham. It didn't matter to him either way. That house wasn't him. It had more in common with a dollhouse.

 

The disco club here in the East End was just as much of a dollhouse, but not in the same way. Most of the regulars are homeless or live in slums. But, in here, they are among the wealthy. They dress in opulence and speak in foreign accents so they can pretend to be someone they're not. Zsasz chooses not to be wealthy but different. Unique. His own self. He sleeps with various men and women and everything in-between and he feels _alive._ But that euphoria slowly fades and he feels hollow again.

 

On one particular evening, he notices a guy in a suit at the bar. He seems out of place and like he's waiting for someone. Victor assumes it's him the man is waiting for. That suspicion is confirmed when the nervous man requests to speak with someone named _Zsasz._

 

“That's me.” Victor nods and then gulps down his cocktail through a pink straw, “What do you need?”

 

“S-shouldn't we go somewhere private?”

 

“I'm not that kind of hire.” Victor raised a hairless brow

 

“No!... I just... _what if someone overhears us?”_ the man whispered

 

“No one will talk. So long as you act cool.” Victor sets his empty glass on the bar, “Did you bring a picture?”

 

The man fumbled with a black and white photograph in his pocket. The picture is of a younger, more muscular looking man getting into a rather fancy looking vehicle.

 

“His name is Donovan Shepherd. M-my wife is having an affair-”

 

Victor held up his hand, “I don't need details. Just a name. You got the cash?”

 

The man handed him an envelope. Two thousand seemed like a fair price for his first contract as a hitman. He wasn't entirely sure how to price this sort of thing. It's not like he could just go ask someone... Though, come to think of it, in a city like Gotham he probably _could._

 

Victor didn't expect to get such a rush from gunning a man down in his driveway. All Victor had to do was wait for him to come home and _bang._ Guy's dead. Job fulfilled and money earned.

 

Business is booming and Victor cannot get enough of that euphoric rush that comes from instilling fear and causing pain. He feels alive again. He continues taking contracts to feel that high but, as with all good things, it fades. He doesn't get the same thrill like he did in the beginning. He doesn't even care for the money. He ends up gambling it all away or spends it on alcohol. He tries to stave off the looming dread by carving up his own skin. It was a habit from when he was a teenager but it was a reliable go-to whenever he was feeling down.

 

It's been a year since he's shed his former life and embraced the name Victor Zsasz. But, alas, that life was short-lived. Drunk and lonely, Victor finds himself climbing over the safety barricade of Gotham Bridge. As he looks out over the horizon and sees that bright blue line that is the coast of Metropolis. Victor wonders what it would have been like had he just followed that path. If he had just done his job, gone to school, went to church on Sunday with his mom... He shivers. It's starting to mist and he's losing his grip. He figures this is as good a time as any to finally let go when he hears the sound of a car pull up behind him.

 

“Victor Zsasz.” It's worded as a statement instead of a question. this man knows full well who he is speaking to. The man's voice is low. He's older. Grey hair. Wearing an expensive Italian suit.

 

“Yeah?” Victor looks down at the water but curiosity gets the better of him. He turns back towards the mysterious man, “What do you want?”

 

“I've heard a lot about you. My men tell me you are a talented hitman.”

 

“I suppose I am...” Victor was still grasping onto the cold iron of the bridge

 

“I was hoping we could discuss a business arrangement. But, you seem busy at the moment. Please, don't let me keep you.” The man smirked and then started to get back into the back of his limo

 

'W-wait!” Victor stumbled down onto the pavement, “I think I have one more in me. What do ya need?”

 

The man looked up at the sky, “It's starting to rain. Perhaps we could continue this conversation at my home?”

 

“Alright.” Victor felt uneasy. He still didn't even know this old man's name.

 

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked

 

“Yesterday...” Victor answered. Though, it was mostly a lie. All he had eaten was a bite of beef jerky and a bottle of sweet wine.

 

“Let's fix that, shall we? My cook makes this amazing Pasta e Fagioli. It's perfect for this kind of weather.”

 

Victor shrugged and then made his way toward the limo. His only other option was to continue with his plan for that day and jump off of the bridge. If the universe was gonna throw him a bone, he might as well enjoy it.

 

* * *

 

Shortly after the death of his parents, Victor Zsasz concluded that there was no inherent meaning in life except the meaning you make. Which is why he doesn't sweat the small stuff, enjoys himself where he can, and isn't burdened with pointless self-reflection. His self-mutilation and his blasé approach to life isn't healthy but he doesn't care. He'd rather go get a milkshake than worry about anything. All things are temporary. The Schopenhauer fortune was temporary. The Falcone empire was temporary. The Cobblepot empire was temporary. Hell... even _Gotham_ was temporary. Zsasz had never felt more confident in his personal philosophy than he did during No Man's Land. It highlighted the meaninglessness of life to him. And it made his current internal struggles all the more frustrating.

 

Zsasz finds himself unable to sleep. The bed is too comfortable and the distinct lack of mold from the floorboards and walls put him on edge. Not that he was complaining. It was all still too weird for him. Like he didn't belong there. The Van Dahl mansion was far enough on the outskirts of Gotham that you couldn't hear the constant roar of the city's nightlife. The evenings at the mansion were always too quiet. If he had any hair left on his body, it would stand on end.

 

He ventures downstairs to get a snack from the fridge- a habit Olga abhors but accommodates for by keeping fresh peaches on the counter and an assortment of baked treats in ceramic jars. As he makes it downstairs, he notices that the fireplace in the study is still lit. When he rounds the corner, he finds Martin asleep at Nygma's desk. Martin has officially claimed it for his own. With his dad's permission, of course.

 

Victor pokes the young boy in his chubby little cheek with his finger. He can't help but chuckle when the boy snorts in his sleep. Victor doesn't want to wake him so he takes a blanket from the nearby sofa and drapes it over his shoulders.

 

He hated how right Lark had been. He sees a lot of himself in Martin and feels a familial connection to him. Not in the same way the Penguin or the Riddler felt. This wasn't some kind of paternal instinct. Uncle, maybe? It was hard to say.

 

“-With Bruce Wayne away from the city, many citizens are left wondering who will fund Gotham's reconstruction. Their prayers have seemingly been answered by none other than Alexander Luthor, CEO of LexCorp-”

 

Victor turned the volume up on the television and continued watching the news. Luthor has apparently traveled to Gotham and is throwing money at various projects in hopes of rebuilding. But, Victor knows the real reason. Men like Lex Luthor are greedy. Power-hungry. He is precisely the kind of man the Penguin does _not_ want stepping foot in Gotham. If they aren't careful, they'll have another Theo Galavan on their hands.

 

Victor shutters at the thought. He had no doubts that Lex Luthor was responsible for the death of his parents. The man left no evidence. Anything that could have been left behind sunk to the bottom of the ocean off the coast of Metropolis. If Luthor was willing to go that far so that he could pry the Schopenhauer legacy from him, what was he willing to do to the Penguin? He could easily kill the Riddler and even Martin to lower his morale. Weaken him. Force him to make mistakes. Hell, he could just have Oswald killed while he was in prison. The man had the resources. The Penguin had money but he didn't have _Lex Luthor_ levels of money and influence.

 

“Gotham citizens are continuing to protest and are demanding the release of Oswald Cobblepot. Cobblepot was one of the individuals who stayed in Gotham after domestic terrorist, Jeremiah Valeska, blew up the bridges connecting the city to the mainland. Cobblepot worked tirelessly through that year to provide food, shelter, and protection for the needy and even aided the Gotham Police in the fight for Gotham-”

 

Victor turned off the television and rubbed his eyes. He wasn't looking forward to having to face Oswald again. Their last few interactions hadn't been the most pleasant and, despite what the Riddler had told him, he wasn't so sure that the Penguin wouldn't just kill him on sight.

 

Martin snored peacefully and Victor couldn't help but ruffle his hair. It reminded him a bit of his own when he was younger...

 

“You better be worth it, kid.”

 

* * *

 

Meeting Don Falcone that day on the bridge proved to be quite serendipitous. The criminal kingpin took it upon himself to take the young and starving Victor Zsasz off of the streets and into his home. Over time, Victor grew attached to the older man and saw him as the father figure he wished he had growing up. Don Falcone _listened_ to what Victor had to say and indulged his more violent tendencies. In fact, he encouraged it. He once let Victor skin a man alive in front of his men just to prove a point to a rival.

 

Which was what led them to Fish Mooney's club that day. The man Zsasz has been ordered to kill had been one of Mooney's spies and she wasn't too thrilled to find out that Don Falcone had them killed so brutally. Falcone wasn't there to explain himself, necessarily, but he wanted to continue to maintain the trust and respect he had developed with Fish.

 

Victor was asked to attend to Don Falcone as his personal bodyguard. A task he beamed with pride over. Falcone was particular about those he kept as his guard. Up until recently, the job had been given to Samuel Lark. But, the man seized the opportunity to retire the moment Victor Zsasz was ready to take his place.

 

Falcone and Mooney sat at the booth that was centralized in the club. Victor was able to keep an eye on Falcone, the front entrance, and was able to sit at the bar and enjoy a drink.

 

Victor recognized the man who made him his drink. He was short. Black hair and gaunt features. He had been a charity case for Fish Mooney. The man stumbled into the club one day bloodied and haggard. Victor heard a rumor that he had killed one of Fish's men in an alley outside the club and then had begged her for the opportunity to work for her. Mooney had been impressed with his resilience and had a soft spot for him.

 

“How's it hangin', Penguin?”

 

“I told you to stop calling me that.” the Penguin flared his nostrils

 

“My bad.” Victor held up his hands. Truthfully, he didn't know why the others called him Penguin. Aside from the bird-like features and his black and white suits, “I hear Fish was pretty mad about what I did. Think mom and dad will ground me for it?”

 

The Penguin scoffed and continued cleaning the glasses on the counter, “Doubtful. Miss Mooney just needs to be more careful about the men she hires as spies. You did her a favor.”

 

“I can't take credit for it. The old man ordered me to kill him.” he finished his drink, “I'd just hate to see what a fight between those two would look like.”

 

“Yes... It certainly wouldn't be a _pretty_ sight.”

 

* * *

 

The security guards at Blackgate didn't question his fake ID. Nor did they bat an eye at his poor attempt at a disguise. Victor is wearing a pair of square-framed glasses, jeans, and an Oingo Boingo t-shirt. Anyone who suspects he is Victor Zsasz doesn't ask questions. The guards here are overworked, underpaid, and likely loyal to the Penguin anyway.

 

Unlike with his visit with the Riddler at Arkham, the Penguin is still under heavy surveillance. Victor is escorted into the visiting around and positions himself at one of the booths. On the other side of the glass is a smaller concrete box with a heavy metal door. He only has to wait for a few minutes before Oswald Cobblepot is brought into the room and picks up the phone on the other side.

 

“You are certainly _not_ someone I expected to see.” Oswald sneered, “...But it is good to see you, old friend.”

 

Victor remained quiet. It was odd talking to Cobblepot. The Penguin had literally tried to cut off his head. And the both of them had aimed guns at the other far more times that was considered courteous in their line of work. The silence lingered on longer than either of them was comfortable with.

 

“To what do I owe the visit?” Oswald surveyed the room he was in as well as the other side of the bullet-proof glass that Zsasz was sitting in, “If you plan to kill me here, I would be quite impressed by your resourcefulness.”

 

“I'm not here to kill you, Penguin. I just want to talk.”

 

“Then talk.” Oswald's tone implied that he was busy and rushing through this meeting like any other.

 

“Lex Luthor is in Gotham. He's throwing money around and helping rebuild the city after No Man's Land and the fires.”

 

“Good for him. Since Bruce Wayne skipped town and several of my assets are frozen, _someone_ has to do it. Why should I concern myself with what another billionaire does with his money.”

 

“He's bad news. Trust me.” Victor leaned in, “He's been waiting for the opportunity to get his hands on Gotham for years. Once we give him an inch, he'll cause trouble.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Cobblepot raised an eyebrow in suspicion

 

“I don't want that asshole _anywhere_ near my city.”

 

“Why don't you just kill him?” Penguin didn't even bother masking his intentions. The guards were pretending to ignore the conversation anyway.

 

“Too high-profile. The guy walks around with bullet-proofed suits and some scary private security. Guy knows what he's doing.”

 

“And what do you expect _me_ to do?”

 

“You're the Penguin. You'll think of something.” Victor spoke it like it was a joke. But he was being serious. And Oswald knew that.

 

“How is Martin?” Penguin asked, changing the subject. Though, Victor knew that the cogs were already turning in his mind. He'd likely be out on parole soon, no one in the city had doubts about that. With his newfound freedom, the Penguin would make quick work reinforcing his empire and thwarting whatever plans Lex Luthor had for Gotham City.

 

“You saw him yesterday.” Victor couldn't hide his grin. He found Cobblepot's protectiveness of the boy endearing. It always reminded him of his relationship to Falcone, “He's fine. He stays up late reading books and eating way too much ice cream.”

 

“You can blame Ed for that.” Penguin laughed. He looked a lot like how he used to. Carefree and in charge. It seemed wrong seeing him in that blue jumpsuit and his hair devoid of product.

 

“So... when is the other shoe gonna drop?” Victor raised a hairless eyebrow

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean... I know you don't trust me. Is the plan to have Samuel stab me in the back once I'm not useful?” he scoffed, “Because Samuel Lark and I go way back. Might be hard to get him to agree to that contract.”

 

“No... Victor, there is no contract.” Oswald clenched his eyes in frustration. He was attempting to not have an outburst, “No contracts. No backstabbing. Just... an agreement among friends.”

 

“Are we friends?” The tone in Victor's voice sounded both worried and unconvinced. _Maybe the Riddler was right after all._

 

“Oh, _please._ Victor, we're practically family. Especially now.” he chuckled, “Did you know that Martin calls you Uncle Zsasz when he visits me?”

 

The two men share a laugh. Of all the things they could have bonded over, it was their mutual love and connection to the eleven-year-old boy that sealed it the deal.

 

“I guess I do kinda think of you like a brother.” Zsasz admitted, “We were both sons of Falcone.”

 

“That we were.” Oswald sighed, “I really didn't have him killed. You know that, right?”

 

“Yeah.” he smiled, “I know. Sorry about... well... you know.”

 

“Water under the bridge, my friend.”

 

“You mean that?”

 

“After what you have done to help protect my family? Yes.” he sighed, “But, forgiveness is more effective when it goes both ways. Do you still harbor some ill will towards me for trying to have you executed?”

 

“Nah.” Victor smirked, “So... when most siblings just rough one another up and get themselves in trouble with their parents... we point guns at each other and put our necks in guillotines?”

 

Oswald scoffed, “Well, this _is_ Gotham.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AFO Tanto switchblade was the type of knife Eddie used to stab Dougherty. Sooo, I guess we have Zsasz to thank for that. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> I like that Gotham's Victor Zsasz is so SO much different than comic Zsasz. It feels a bit like they started off that way in s1 and then decided to just let Anthony Carrigan have fun with the character in later seasons. I wanted to continue on with the obvious conclusion (to me, at least) of his arc. With it all coming full circle and him dedicating himself to something important. And, right now, that's Family. Specifically the family he's chosen.
> 
> Also, sorry Zsaszlepot stans. I went all “We're brothers.” with this story and you got the short stick. Please don't lynch me.


	9. The Vandals

It has been more than a year since the fires began. What started as a few isolated instances quickly turned into a problem no single entity in Gotham could handle. Buildings in and around Old Gotham that were left to rot burned to the ground along with their ghosts. Leaving nothing but a skeleton of burned stone. Nowadays, large portions of the city were always on fire. Entire housing districts reduced to ash in a matter of days. The remains were bought up by the leeches of Gotham's society which left swaths of citizens without a home or hope. Gothamites who were around during that time often compare the rubble to that of Haven.

 

With the help of real estate tycoon, Barbara Kean, the Queen of the Narrows has opened her doors and provided as much as she can in her territory. Unfortunately, supplies and housing are limited. If things remained as they were, there wouldn't be enough room to sufficiently care for Gotham's homeless population. Many have already fled to the abandoned sewer corridors as a last resort to avoid the harsh winters that plagued the city this time of year.

 

Mayor Sebastian Hady, of course, has elected to ignore the issue in favor of lining his own pockets and hosting parties for Gotham's elite while people starved and burned in the streets. Aside from Commissioner Gordon, the only other man who seems to be going out of his way to assist the needy and misplaced Gothamites is Alexander Luthor.

 

“What makes you think that Lex Luthor is involved?” Lucius asked, “He only arrived in Gotham last month. And we can trace our arsonist to a year ago.”

 

“For the first fires, yes. But the ones we can link to Mayor Hady and Firefly started right around the same time our mayor took a trip to Metropolis.” Edward sounded irritated. This hadn't been the first time he and Foxy had this conversation.

 

“That's all circumstantial evidence, Ed.”

 

“Yeah, but what if I'm right?” he chuckled, “Why am I even asking that? _Of course_ , I'm right.”

 

Days prior, Edward received word from Oswald about the untrustworthy nature of the would-be savior of Gotham. According to his sources, Luthor and Hady were both bidding on various properties around the city. All of which have been convenient targets of the fires.

 

The Penguin and the Riddler weren't considered much of a threat to the ambitions of the two collaborators. However, the former Mayor and Chief-of-Staff still had allies at City Hall. One of their sources leaked information regarding a meeting between the LexCorp CEO and the Mayor of Gotham that seems to imply that Luthor has bought his way into power and is well on his way to own most of the city. There are even rumors that he has aspirations of being Mayor himself in the next election.

 

Edward takes one of Foxy's pens and scribbles a number on the corner of one of the files. He gives his friend a wide, Cheshire grin before explaining that it is the number to a professional arsonist that he suspects might be a middle man for Hady and Luthor.

 

“Why do you have this?” Fox asked

 

“Doesn't matter.” he waved his hand dismissively, “Call that number... ask for a meeting. _Don't_ tell Jim. Go on your own and, if you ask the right questions and pay the right price, you might get a lead on what Luthor and Mayor Hady are up to.”

 

“And why shouldn't I bring Commissioner Gordon?”

 

“He's too recognizable.” he said, “They won't tell you anything if they suspect you're with the police. Or they'll kill you.”

 

“Okay.” Lucius said, “And what about paying the right price? You know as well as I do that the GCPD doesn't pay me well enough to do that.”

 

“You could always rob a bank.” The Riddler grinned

 

“Not happening, Ed.”

 

“You're no fun.” Ed sat down,” Don't worry about the money. I'll take care of it.”

 

“How... exactly?” Lucius gestured to the caged room around them.

 

“Oh, please. This place...” he pointed a finger up to the ceiling and then made a circular motion, “...Is just one big puzzle. Once you know the combination, it's an easy enough safe to crack.”

 

“I suppose.” Lucius eyes him suspiciously, “So long as you don't do anything untoward, I guess I can't argue with your methods.”

 

“See.” he smiled, “ _That's_ why I like you.”

 

* * *

 

Captain Harvey Bullock called Martin Van Dahl in for questioning regarding the events at the Founder's Dinner. The week before gave him ample time to clean up any and all evidence of Zsasz's involvement in the murder of Derek Elliot. It also gave his parents and Lark enough time to instruct him on what sorts of things to avoid and how not to accidentally reveal his secrets through micro-expressions. Luckily for him, Captain Harvey Bullock was not as good at reading tells as Commissioner Gordon.

 

“You sat with the Elliot Family during the Founder's Dinner.” Captain Bullock read from his notes. He'd cleaned up a bit since accepting the position at the GCPD. Though his hair was still long and unruly and his eyes were red from last night's bout of heavy drinking. Martin at least appreciated that the man did not reek of whiskey like he normally did in the past.

 

 _I did._ Martin signed and a translator, a portly woman with dark skin, relayed.

 

“So you got to see Derek Elliot before he was murdered. Did he say anything unusual or seem nervous at all? Maybe he said something to you that might give us a clue who did it?” Harvey asked

 

_He didn't say anything to me at all. No one wanted to talk to a mute kid._

 

Harvey frowned, “Buncha jerks... Sorry you had to deal with that.” Harvey seemed genuinely saddened by it. It was no secret that Captain Bullock detested his parents, but he was at least able to separate that hostility away from the eleven-year-old.

 

Martin shrugged, _I'm used to it._

 

“Still...” Harvey sighed, “Did you see anything suspicious?”

 

Martin slowly nodded his head. He was calculating how much information to give Captain Bullock with the translator in the room.

 

“Oh?”

 

_The founders all went into a back room and didn't come out for the rest of the night. There was a man there. I think he was a guard. He was wearing a mask. He didn't talk to anyone._

 

“A mask?” Harvey furrowed his brow and jotted that detail down in his notes, “Thank you for telling me, Martin. Anything else?”

 

Martin shook his head.

 

“You aren't lying to me to protect one of your dad's friends, are ya?” Harvey raised an eyebrow

 

 _If I was, could you tell?_ Martin smirked, unable to resist the urge to test the boundaries of the interview.

 

“I'm not above making your life difficult if I find out you've been lying.”

 

_You mean **more** difficult._

 

Harvey sighed, getting more irritated the longer the conversation went on, “Just answer the question, kid. Are you lying about any of this to protect someone?”

 

 _No, sir._ Martin's face was stone.

 

“Alright... But if I find out later that you're lying, you're gonna be in a world of hurt. Got it?”

 

Martin nodded and vowed, with fingers crossed, to be on his best behavior.

 

As Martin was being led back into the bullpen where Olga was waiting for him, he caught sight of a familiar face handcuffed to a chair next to Detective Alvarez.

 

“You really expect me to believe you found them?” Alvarez had his arms crossed and was leaning against his desk. A pair of sapphire earrings were sealed in an evidence bag.

 

“I didn't steal them!” Luke yelled, thrashing about. The cuffs clanked loudly.

 

“Whether you did or not, we're handing you over to Juvenile Services. We can't just release you out onto the streets.”

 

Martin kicked Alvarez in the shin.

 

“Ow! Hey! The fu-” Alvarez clamped his mouth shut around the string of insults that would have fallen from his mouth had he not recognized the infamous Martin Van Dahl.

 

 _Why are you bothering my friend?_ Martin's handwriting was made of harsh lines

 

“You're friend?” Alvarez gawked at them

 

 _He's telling the truth._ Martin pointed to the earrings, _I gave those to Luke._

 

“You did?” Alvarez looked between the two boys and then up to Olga who just shrugged.

 

 _They were a gift. Now give them back._ He glared

 

“He gave you these?” Alvarez asked, not believing their story

 

“Yes, sir.” Luke lied, but the untrained eye would never know

 

“You said you found them on the sidewalk.” Alvarez raised an eyebrow, “Why did you lie?”

 

Luke locked eyes with Martin

 

_He didn't want anyone to know that we're friends._

 

“Okay.” Alvarez sighed, “Look... Mister Van Dahl, I still can't put your friend back out on the street.”

 

“That's bullshit!” Luke yelled, “I do fine on my own.”

 

“Oh? When was the last meal you had?” Alvarez narrowed his gaze

 

“I stole half a sandwich this morning.” Luke confessed non-nonchalantly

 

“Whatever.” Alvarez rolled his eyes, “It's supposed to get cold tonight. Trust me, I'm doing you a favor.”

 

 _He's staying at my house._ Martin interjected

 

“Luke is living at your place?”

 

Martin and Olga locked eyes. Martin nods.

 

“да. Boy is staying at Van Dahl mansion. Has warm bed and plenty of food.” Olga reassures the detective

 

“Yeah... which is why he stole a sandwich this morning.” He glared, unconvinced

 

“Boy is stubborn.” she raised an eyebrow at Luke, “Like feral house cat.”

 

After a few more minutes of arguing, Olga signed a release form putting him in her custody. Even if the two boys were lying, she would be responsible for him until further notice. If she was irritated by Martin's subterfuge, she didn't allow it to show on her face.

 

While leaving the GCPD, she grabbed Luke by the ear and dragged him towards the limo awaiting them outside. All while cursing in Russian and complaining about how little it looked like he'd eaten. Luke and Martin just assumed she was playing the part of a distressed adult, but her genuine vexation let them know she wasn't going to let _either_ boy get away with whatever game they were playing.

 

Harvey shakes his head as he walks up to Alvarez. He hands the detective a fresh coffee and resists the urge to take a sip from his hip flask.

 

“Why do I get the feeling they're going to be a pain in my ass?”

 

 

Luke hadn't intended on coming home with them to the Van Dahl mansion. But, Olga had insisted. And Luke's empty stomach and dirt behind his ears didn't argue with her.

 

When they arrive, Luke walks through the foyer and whistles.

 

“Nice place.” he says as he walks over to a shelf lined with different antiques and oddities. In particular, he examines a grotesque looking bust stashed away in a corner. It's a skull cut into several pieces and articulated on a stand. The parts of the skull can be swiveled out of the way to reveal the different cranial cavities. Each one meticulously labeled and written in handwriting that Luke could only assume belonged to the Riddler.

 

Martin stands there, unsure how to communicate with his new... friend? He wasn't entirely sure _what_ to call Luke. He was an acquaintance, sure. But Martin didn't keep friends. Only conspirators.

 

“So... what's it like having super villains for parents?” Luke smiled

 

 _It's cool, I guess._ Martin shrugged, _They're just like normal people._

 

“I heard a rumor a while back that the Penguin was a cannibal. That true?”

 

Martin pulled a face and shook his head. He didn't want to have to explain that time the Penguin had eaten a people pie in order to save him from the Pyg...

 

Olga stomps into the room carrying a fresh pair of clothes and a towel.

 

“Upstairs. Bath is on left.”

 

“Uh... okay?” Luke takes the pile of warm laundry and tries to hide how badly he wants to wrap himself up in the soft fabric. He resists the urge with a shake of his head.

 

“I bring you meal after your bath.” she explains, “I also get your room prepared.”

 

“My room?” Luke's eyes went wide

 

“малыш, policeman was right. Is too cold to sleep outside.” she crossed her arms

 

“It's not _that_ cold.”

 

Olga looks over to the window and sees the frost collecting there. She glares at the boy and doesn't budge.

 

Luke swallows, “Um... I guess I can stay here for a night if it'll make you feel better?”

 

“да.”

 

“Is that okay with you?” Luke turns to Martin who wasn't entirely sure what to make of the exchange. He liked seeing Olga's more motherly side. Something about it made him feel safe.

 

Martin nodded his head. Luke ventured upstairs and Martin turned to Olga who seemed less than pleased with her charge. He gulped.

 

“If you take in all the strays in Gotham, we will run out of rooms.” Olga teases.

 

Martin craved familial affection. Olga knew this. She saw it in him the first time she met him. Martin had been denied a proper family for so long and, now that he has the freedom and confidence, he's collecting people that he can call family. His parents, Lark, herself, Mister Freeze, Uncle Zsasz... Even Jim Gordon, on occasion. Luke was just another piece of that. Even if Martin didn't quite understand it, Olga saw it. Olga saw through most things.

 

Martin was in the library when Luke came back downstairs. His hair was still dripping and he didn't look nearly as relaxed as someone _should_ be after a hot bath. He seemed fidgety. Out of place. He tried to hide his uneasiness by starting a conversation.

 

“So... are you a criminal too?” Luke asked, sitting down next to Martin on the couch and looking at the book in his hand. _Demian_ by Hermann Hesse.

 

 _Are_ _you_ _?_ Martin wrote

 

“You have to be when you live on the streets.” Luke shrugged

 

_That makes sense._

 

“I guess it's true what the papers said, huh?”

 

_About what?_

 

“About the Penguin and the Riddler. That they secretly got married.”

 

Martin shook his head.

 

 _They're not married. Not yet, anyway._ He smiled and added, _They do love each other though. That part is true._

 

“I met them once. They came to my school for a tour.” he chuckled, “The Penguin told me to push the other kids down the stairs if anyone bullied me.”

 

_Did you?_

 

“There was this one guy who kept teasing me when I was at Ma Gunn's. I threw him out of a window.” Luke smiled, his pride obvious, “No one bothered me after that.”

 

They talk for hours. Martin's never met someone as interested in his life as Luke was. At first, Martin assumed that the boy was more infatuated with the idea of the Penguin or the Riddler but the conversation always steered away from the iniquitous duo. Martin's serendipitous first meeting with Oswald Cobblepot, his stories from his time at Cardy Boarding School, and what little information Martin was willing to divulge about his trick on Sofa Falcone were what interested Luke the most.

 

Luke mostly talked about how he survived No Man's Land. The boy had a knack for reading groups of people and developed a keen intuition for when tensions would become so high that alliances would crumble. This proved to be a useful skill during that year. And it kept him alive through reunification as well. He was also small and nimble. He could scale most buildings and could fit inside places adults couldn't reach.

 

The clock strikes in the hallway. Luke counts the chimes and groans when he realizes the time.

 

_What's wrong?_

 

“I was supposed to meet Ver.” he threw on his jacket, “Fuck! She's gonna kill me.”

 

_You're leaving?_

 

“Yeah... Sorry. Tell Olga I said thanks-”

 

 _Let me give you a ride._ Martin shoved his notepad in Luke's face.

 

Luke stopped for a moment and stared at Martin before nodding his head. He wasn't used to anyone helping him with anything. At least, no one other than Verity. But, he needed to get to The Flea in the Narrows and the Van Dahl estate was on the outskirts of town. He didn't exactly have a choice.

 

They stop a few blocks away from the abandoned building so as not to draw attention to themselves. Luke steps out of the limo but is quick to look back at his newly acquired friend.

 

“You comin'?” Luke asks

 

Martin blinks. His thoughts raced back to that moment at the Founder's Dinner when Luke and Verity invited him to sneak out with them. In hindsight, he's glad he didn't. He wouldn't have been able to save Uncle Zsasz otherwise. But he did regret it a little. He wanted to leave with them but had been too nervous.

 

He recalled all of the letters from his dad reassuring him that friends _were_ valuable and that maybe his father had been wrong in saying that friends were too dangerous to have. After all, the whole reason his parents were as well off as they were in prison and Martin had a family was because of their friends.

 

Martin steps out of the limo and follows Luke down the alleyway.

 

“Oh... here.” Luke stops, “Wear this.” he hands Martin his denim jacket with torn up elbows.

 

_Won't you be cold?_

 

“Yeah.” Luke shivered. The only thing shielding him from the cold was the navy blue hoodie he threw on over the t-shirt Olga gave him, “But this way you won't stand out.”

 

The Flea was a shopping mall of sorts. A wide open space full of homeless vendors, vagrants, and street kids. It was located inside the remains of an abandoned theater. Martin recognized it only because he had crawled out of one of the tunnels when he was building his map.

 

“Stay close to me.” Luke grabs Martin by the hand and drags him down a hall covered with a plastic curtain.

 

Inside one of the side rooms was a large group of brutish looking men standing around a table. Seated there was a man smoking a cigar and Verity Silverlock. Cash and jewelry that Ver had likely stolen from her mother were piled at the center.

 

The man angrily places his cards on the table. Two pair. Kings and Aces. He smiles. His teeth are yellow-grey and there are sores on the side where he is chewing the cigar.

 

Verity clicks her tongue and shakes her head.

 

“Sorry, boys. Three of a kind.” she places her cards on the table. Queens.

 

The men standing around all groan. The man slams his fist on the table, “We keep playing!”

 

“You don't have anything else.” she says as she stuffs the wads of cash and treasures into her backpack.

 

“I said we keep playing!” He grabs her by the wrist, causing her to shriek.

 

“Let go of her!” Luke pulls out a switchblade and shoves the larger man. As he stumbles backwards, cards fall out from under Verity's jacket.

 

“Shit.”

 

“You lying _bitch!_ ” The man flips the table. Sending money and cards flying through the air.

 

Martin, Verity, and Luke run down the corridor. They round a corner and Luke, with an alarming precision, throws his knife and lodges it near the man's collar bone. Likely puncturing his lung. The boy doesn't have much time to celebrate as the man's friends all pull out guns and aim them at the children.

 

They make it outside and Martin whistles. Luke and Verity follow after him as he darts down an alleyway towards a tunnel entrance. However, they're stopped by the man with the cigar. The knife is still lodged in his chest. He pulls it out and throws it at Luke. The bloodied weapon clanks to the ground. Luke doesn't notice the man storm over to him and land a punch at the center of his much smaller and much more fragile face. His nose starts bleeding.

 

“Luke!” Verity screams

 

Martin picks up the knife from the ground and stands over his bleeding friend. However, the man has stopped using his fists. And there is a barrel of a gun pointed right between Martin's eyes.

 

Martin's grip on the knife tightens. _Upward thrust. Just under the sternum. Straight into the heart.._. but Martin's hands are shaking. How is he supposed to defend himself if he's too scared to move?

 

The sound of a bullet cracks through the alleyway. The man in front of him falls dead. Blood splatters across Martin's face and all over Luke's denim jacket. When he looks up, he sees Victor Zsasz.

 

The other men in the alley flee like roaches. Victor stomps over to Martin and grabs his face, turning it from side to side to make sure that the blood isn't his. He looks down at the corpse and promptly kicks it with his steel-toed boots.

 

“Care to explain?” Zsasz scolds.

 

Martin shakes his head. The blood in his hair splatters on the pavement.

 

“Really?” the bald man growls. His steely gaze bounced between the three children.

 

 _Take us home._ Martin signs.

 

“Fine.” Zsasz sighs, “You _do_ realize that I just got back on your dad's good side, right?'

 

Martin frowned and nodded his head. He's suddenly worried that he might've disappointed yet another adult in his life. Zsasz noticed and ruffled his hair.

 

“Let's go get milkshakes.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you certain your beloved bird isn't going to be angry with you?” Jervis asked

 

“He'll get over it.” Edward added the final touches to his chemistry project- a highly concentrated knock-out gas that could easily be introduced to Arkham's sprinkler system.

 

The Scarecrow had given him access to the hidden lab in the basement in order to fulfill his plans for escape. Meanwhile, Crane wandered the halls posing as a doctor. Quietly building an army within the walls of the Asylum. When the time was right, they would leave and be their own masters once again. Warden Quincy Sharp was none the wiser.

 

“Are you so certain?” Jervis raised an eyebrow

 

Ed sighed, “Oswald and I don't always see eye to eye. He wants me to stay in Arkham until he's officially out on parole... but it's taking longer than we thought.”

 

“Why can't you enact your plans within the Asylum?” The Hatter asked, “It's not like you're really treated like a patient here anymore.”

 

“You wouldn't understand.” Ed tries to hide the tremor in his hand, “I'm not particularly fond of confined spaces...”

 

“Confined, you say? I have all of the staff here under my spell. You're free to roam the halls as you need. Best of all, no one suspects you.” he says, “I always found Arkham to be quite... liberating.”

 

“You can't be serious.” The Riddler made a face. He wanted nothing more than to burn the whole of Arkham to the ground. Which, given the state of the City, he might actually get away with.

 

“Oh, but I am.” Jervis smiled, “Did I ever tell you about the first time I was here?”

 

“You haven't.” Edward leaned back in his chair, watching the liquid in the mason jar he'd sealed change from green to clear as he shook it.

 

“I drank poison.” The Hatter admitted, “My veins filled with acid which led me straight to a well-earned casket.”

 

“You died?” Ed asked

 

“I did.” he said, “But then I woke up here.”

 

Edward nodded in understanding. He was well aware of Hugo Strange's ability to resurrect the dead. He was a living example. Though, he also knew that Strange hadn't always been successful.

 

“I had no memory of who I was. So, Professor Strange gave me a new identity.” He held up the book in his lap. A copy of _Through the Looking Glass_ by Lewis Carroll.

 

“But your memories came back.”

 

“They did... But not fully. They were... Distorted. Randomly assorted.” He flinched, “Poisoned through the lens of my new Hatter identity.”

 

“What triggered them to return?”

 

“I saw Alice. My sister. She was in a neighboring cell. It all just... came back to me. But wrong. The more dreadful things had been omitted from my mind. They didn't return until after she died.”

 

“What kinds of things?” The Riddler asked, curious

 

“Oh... things I don't wish to tell you.” he sniffles, “You might think differently of me. And I quite enjoy our friendship. You understand?”

 

“Yeah.” Edward nodded

 

“Let's just say... I deserved to be here.” he exhaled, “Sometimes, even the best of us need to spend time here with ourselves and our demons.”

 

“Are you implying that I deserve to be locked up here?”

 

“No. Not at all.” The Hatter smiled, “But, perhaps... there are some things about our identities that, when we look in the mirrors here, reflect back in a way that we cannot perceive when we are on the outside. Sometimes it's worth looking at.”

 

* * *

 

“You have a visitor, Cobblepot.” the guard tapped on the entryway with his baton. Oswald's cell was bigger than most. Positioned in a more isolated location near an exterior wall and more furnished than was usually allowed. But, the Penguin was often the exception to the rule.

 

Oswald was led to the visitor's area where he saw Jim Gordon waiting for him at one of the tables. Above them was a ceiling of bullet-proof glass and strategically positioned guards. Most of whom were paid off or blackmailed into submission. The Penguin may look like a prisoner inside the walls of Blackgate, but he was anything but.

 

“Jim. _Old Friend._ ” Oswald sneered and glided to his seat across from the Commissioner, “It's not every day that you visit me.”

 

“I try and not make a habit of it.” Jim makes a face and sighs, “You look good.”

 

“Thank you.” he says, “Can't say the same for you.”

 

Jim rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well... It's kind of hard to sleep soundly at night when you know the City is on fire.”

 

“How you sleep soundly even when the city _isn't_ is chaos is beyond me.” Oswald goaded, “I assume this isn't a courtesy visit?”

 

“It's about Martin.” Jim said, flinching slightly as he awaited Oswald's inevitable overreaction

 

Oswald's face fell, “What did you find out?”

 

“Nothing concrete.” Jim explained, “But Lucius and I have done as much digging as we can at this point. There's no evidence linking him to the fires.”

 

Oswald exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for years, “Jim, you have _no_ idea how much of a relief that is to hear.” his smile melted away when he saw that Jim still looked concerned, “There's something else, isn't there?”

 

Jim looked around and noted the positions of the cameras and the guards. He leaned in closer and, with all of the accuracy of someone who learned to speak yesterday, started signing.

 

_He's gotten the attention of the Court._

 

Oswald breathed in through his nose and tried to steady his shaking.

 

 _Is he in danger?_ Oswald signed in response

 

 _Can't say yet._ Jim answered honestly and noted how Oswald visibly tensed, “I'll keep an eye on him and his friends.” he spoke aloud

 

“Martin has friends?”

 

“Yeah?” Jim looks confused, “It's normal for kids to have friends.”

 

“I know that, Jim! Don't patronize me... I just didn't know he had any.” he smiled, “That's good to hear. Really good... I was starting to worry.”

 

“I'll let you know if anything comes up.” Jim reassured him

 

“Thank you, Jim.” Oswald grabs the man's arm and squeezes. It's the closest thing to a hug he's ever given him.

 

“What are friends for?” Jim risks saying. Based on the sparkle in Oswald's eyes, he knows he's going to regret it later.

 

* * *

 

Olga was not pleased with the amount of blood in Martin's hair and on his clothes. She heatedly frets and paces up and down the hallway the entire time he's in the bath. Martin can even hear her muttering to herself as she cooks dinner.

 

Martin is sitting by the fire with Edward the dog in his lap. Luke and Verity are sitting across from him and watching with unease as Olga scolds the leather-clad assassin. She's probably the only person in all of Gotham who can get away with talking to him like he's an overgrown toddler.

 

“You three owe me. Big time.” Zsasz sinks into the couch next to Martin. He scratches the bulldog on top of his head.

 

“What did you tell her?” Luke asked, miserably shifting the bag of frozen peas on his face.

 

“I took the blame for the guys in the alley. Said I was working and didn't realize you were nearby.”

 

 _Thanks, Uncle Zsasz._ Martin signed.

 

“How's the face?” Zsasz turned his attention to the blonde child currently nursing two blackened eyes.

 

“It's fine.” Luke's voice is nasal. Clotted blood coated the back of his throat. His nose wasn't broken but it was certainly bruised.

 

“Nice talk.” Zsasz stood up to leave, “Oh. And I'm keeping your loot.” He threw the backpack full of money over his shoulder.

 

“Hey!” Verity protested. Zsasz glared, his hairless brows raised, “Fine.” She said, crossing her arms with a petulant pout.

 

Zsasz made his way to his own room upstairs. Silently hoping that he didn't get stuck with babysitting duty again anytime soon.

 

“I like him.” Luke grinned

 

“I don't!” Verity groaned

 

“It's not like you need the money anyway.” Luke rolled his eyes and then immediately regretted it. His head was pounding.

 

“It's not about the money, asshat!” Verity complained, “It's about being smarter than the adults and stealing it.”

 

“She keeps telling everyone that she's psychic so she can get away with cheating at cards.” Luke turned to Martin as he explained. Uncomfortably rolling his eyes again.

 

“I am!” she squealed, “Everyone in my family is.”

 

“You're a con artist.”

 

“Well, _yeah!”_ she snorts, “That too.”

 

Martin listens to the two bicker back and forth. It's obvious to him that their mutual teasing is purely out of love. The insults they throw at each other are more like terms of endearment. There's no malice behind them. It honestly reminds him a lot of the conversations he witnessed between his Uncle Zsasz and the Penguin.

 

 _Why be a criminal?_ Martin asks. Every villain in Gotham had their own twisted justifications for being what they were- for better or worse. He was curious what her reasoning was.

 

“My family has always made decisions for me. Pretending to be just another street kid gave me freedom. It lets me be my own person.” Verity explained, “On the street, I'm not some rich kid. I'm just... me. I've been given everything I could ever want but I've never really _earned_ it, ya know? I wanna work for my treasure. Not have it gifted to me.”

 

Martin could respect that. It honestly wasn't all that different than the Penguin, the Riddler, or even himself.

 

“So!” she clapped her hands together and stood in front of the fire. Her entire body aglow in the amber light, “What do we call ourselves?”

 

“What do you mean?” Luke asked

 

“We have to have a name.” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Every gang has one.”

 

“Oh, so we're a gang now?” Luke scoffed

 

“Gang. Squad. Gaggle of Dorks. Whatever!” she threw her hands in the air, “We _need_ a name. All of the cool groups around Gotham have names.”

 

“Are you the leader of our gang?” Luke asked, unamused by Verity's sudden interest in forming their little club.

 

“Well, obviously.” She crosses her arms, “I _am_ the oldest.”

 

“Nah. I vote Martin as our leader.” Luke says

 

Martin raises an eyebrow and gives them both a look. It wouldn't be all that different from his network of conspirators back at Cardy. Or even the group of rogues he's befriended while his parents are away. But, somehow, this feels different.

 

“Aren't you the youngest?” she questioned the eleven-year-old

 

“Why does his age matter?” Luke argued, “Besides, he's the only one here with _actual_ criminal experience. Right, Martin?”

 

He nods his head. Unsure what was safe to agree to at this point in the conversation.

 

“Ugh, fine!” she relents, “But we still need a name.”

 

“How about the Vandals?” Luke snickered, “Get it? Van Dahl. _Vandal.”_

 

Martin laughed at the pun. Like his dad, he was a sucker for wordplay. Verity and Luke both stop and stare at Martin with wide eyes and smiles.

 

“That... was the most adorable fucking sound I have ever heard.” Verity couldn't help but gush over the sound of Martin's voice through his laughter, “Well. I'm sold. What do you say, Your Highness? You cool with us naming our gang after you?”

 

Martin nodded. Not entirely certain what he was agreeing to.

 

Verity raises her champagne flute full of lemony soda, “Then, in the name of the Spirit of Gotham, I hereby dub us... The Vandals!”

 

Martin was well aware of the curses and blessings that Gotham bestowed on her citizens. Tonight, the Vandals were one such group of misfits honored with a special name. Though, whether they were rewarded with the title or doomed to suffer would be entirely up to Fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these kids! I'm so happy we're finally to the point in this story where they're major players.
> 
> Also, I totally headcanon Jervis Tetch as one of the people resurrected by Strange. Mostly because of that scene in S2 E19 where Strange is talking about installing personas into the resurrected patients and he reads an excerpt from _Through the Looking Glass._ His hypnotism powers are a combination of actual powers of suggestion and augmentation from Strange's genetic manipulation. Just so y'all are aware and aren't confused later down the line.


	10. The Book of Old Gotham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh boy! We're getting into the more supernatural elements of this story. I also have a new [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Q5WYm6EW45zY17Mxadrga?si=8TZ2aYXzSLSpm0eEh7PeEQ) for those of you interested in listening along.

The woods on the outskirts of Gotham are alive. The shadows that haunt the trees all have shining eyes like rats in at alley. Or spiders and their reflective beady orbs hunting you through the darkness. Spinning webs to trap prey. On this particular night, they are stalking through the hematic soil and leaves in the hopes of rending the flesh off the bones of an unfortunate Gothamite who unknowingly carries the burden of his ancestor's sins.

 

Harvey Dent stumbles through the trees as he makes his way to the lights in the distance. His shoes are caked with mud and he can't shake the overwhelming feeling that there is blood on his hands. He keeps wiping them down his shirt front but the sensation of warm, viscous fluid coating his palms and fingers won't go away.

 

In his haste, he trips over himself and falls with a distinctive thud in the middle of the village square. He looks up and watches as a young girl is being dragged by her hair, screaming and thrashing as she pleads for her life.

 

She stands out like a light in the darkness. Her skin porcelain pale. Her hair wispy and fair. Eyes a powerful red. Blood pooling down her torn linen dress from her mouth and nose. The mob that follows close behind is made of a sea of faces Harvey disturbingly finds familiar.

 

The girl can barely keep her head up as she is tied to the crudely made pyre in the square.

 

A man nudges at him and points to a pile of hay and lumber. Other members of the mob are grabbing handfuls and placing them at the feet of the pale, red-eyed girl.

 

They await in silence once it is Harvey's turn to participate. Their eyes like silver coins reflecting the moonlight. Harvey doesn't entirely understand what motivates him to grab a handful of the dried timber. He places his contribution at her feet and takes a step back.

 

“No...” the girl whimpers, “Please stop...”

 

“Amity Arkham, we here assembled find you guilty of witchcraft, heresy, and devil worship.”

 

“She didn't do anything wrong! Edmunde, PLEASE-” a man cries. He's bound in a series of knots and held firmly in place by a portion of the mob. He shares a lot of features with the girl on the pyre. Harvey assumes that they must be siblings.

 

“If you truly believe that I am a Witch, then so be it.” the red-eyed girl cries, “I curse you.” she spits, “All of you!”

 

The man known as Edmunde lights the pyre without another word.

 

“All of your descendants will see _my face_ as they burn!” she laughs through the pain, “My Blood will suffer my calamity until every last one of you is dead and in the ground.”

 

Her crimson eyes, hot and so very full of hate, rip through Harvey as he looks on in horror. He's standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the mob and cannot deny or escape his shame. The blood on his hands now boiling hot. He blinks and it takes him a few dizzying moments to realize he has switched places with the so-called witch.

 

“What? Nononono!” He tugs at the ropes that bind him. The flames climb up his legs and torso. His lungs fill with smoke. The pain is excruciating. He looks out into the crowd for someone, _anyone_ willing to help him.

 

He sees Martin Van Dahl there. His eyes are wide and he seems just as confused as Harvey. Standing next to him is a girl. She can't be much older than Martin. Her clothes seem out of place. A simple black dress with a white lace collar. Her silky black hair straight down her shoulders. Her eyes look just like Oswald Cobblepot's. She resembled a doll more than she did a person.

 

“Help me!” He calls out to the boy who goes to take a step forward, but the girl beside him stops him with a wave of her hand and a firm shake of her head.

 

Harvey grits his teeth and he can taste blood. He looks out into the crowd and sees the woman with red eyes. She opens her cavernous mouth. Her jaw is grotesquely unhinged and her teeth look like cherried embers. She screams as the fire warps his vision. His eyes searing in their sockets and his throat coated in flame.

 

Harvey wakes up in a sweat. His throat is sore from screaming in his sleep. It takes him a moment of silent sobbing to shake the feeling of heat and fire from his body. His skin hurts. Every slight touch to his flesh is unbearable. The brush of his clothes. The blanket. Even the air.

 

He's had these nightmares ever since he visited the Van Dahl mansion more than a year ago. He had a strange feeling that someone was watching him. That feeling followed him home. He doesn't believe in ghosts but some part of his psyche is almost begging him to. If anything, just to give him some kind of solace that he isn't just going crazy.

 

He tries to take a shower but the water is almost too much for him to handle. He can't stomach any amount of heat and so sits on the floor of his shower as icy water cools him. He shivers.

 

Curiosity grips him like a snake coiled around his insides. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he needed to do. Some unfinished business he needed to assist with.

 

He practically crawls out of the shower. The entire right side of his body like ice from where the water had rained down over him. His left side felt feverish. Two opposites pulling him in two separate directions.

 

While getting dressed, he silently decides to go to the library to see if he can find any information on Amity Arkham. Just out of curiosity. It's not like it would hurt it him if he came up empty-handed.

 

* * *

 

Martin wretches when he awakens and he's grateful that the bathroom is next to his bedroom.

 

The smell of burning flesh and the sounds of Harvey Dent screaming and calling out to him from the pyre overwhelmed his senses. He covers his ears and silently cries as he empties his stomach.

 

Martin inhales and exhales slowly and, once he's calm, ventures back to his bedroom. He's surprised to find Luke sitting on his bed. He tenses. Martin isn't too pleased. His bedroom is a private space and having anyone in there gives him anxiety. But Luke isn't looking in his direction and Martin can't sign _loud_ enough.

 

“What's this?” Luke opens the antique book he'd taken off of Martin's desk. He makes a face when he reads the words _The Book of Old Gotham_ on the title page. He scans the rest of the words but finds himself unable to continue for much the same reasons Martin had months ago, “What language is it in?”

 

_Norwegian._

 

“You can read Norwegian?”

 

_No._

 

“Then why do you have it sitting out here?” he flips through the pages, “It's not like there are pictures.”

 

Martin slams the book shut and glares at Luke. He angrily writes, _I need to get it translated._

 

Luke stares back at him. Unfazed by Martin's show of dominance over the other boy.

 

“Do you know sign language?” Luke asked

 

Martin blinked at the sudden change of topic.

 

 _Yes._ He wrote

 

“Will you teach me?”

 

_You want to learn sign language?_

 

“Well... yeah.” Luke chuckled, “Wouldn't it be easier than having to write in your notebook all the time?”

 

Martin felt an emotion bubble to the surface. He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was, _You want to learn sign language to make it easier for us to talk?_

 

“Of course!” Luke chuckled, “We're friends, aren't we?”

 

Martin nodded. His curls bouncing on his forehead from his enthusiasm.

 

“I know where you can get your book translated.” Luke exclaimed, “You want Edwige.”

 

_...What's an Edwige?_

 

After breakfast, Luke offered to take him to meet the woman he'd befriended during No Man's Land. She was an older woman who frankly shouldn't have survived, all things considered. She was an eccentric who spent most of her time buried in strange antiques and memorizing every idiosyncratic detail of Gotham's past. She was an invaluable tool in Martin's arsenal that he didn't even realize he had.

 

“Hey, Edwige!” Luke calls out, “Are you open?”

 

“Not for another hour.” she comes out from behind some stacks of books, Exasperated, “Did you pick my lock again?”

 

“Maybe.” Luke shrugged

 

“And who is this?” Edwige asked, her hand on her hip

 

“This is my friend, Martin.” Luke said, “He needs your help with a really old book.”

 

She sighed and held out her hands, “Well? Give it here.”

 

Martin reluctantly handed over the book. Edwige set it down on a desk nearby and put on her coke-bottle glasses. She gasped when she opened it to the first page.

 

“What's up?” Luke asked

 

“Come over here, my boy.” she gestured to Martin

 

He looked over to Luke who shrugged and gestured for him to follow. Martin took a few tentative steps until he was standing next to the silver-haired woman. She leaned in close, her eyes much larger now that she has her glasses on.

 

“Where did you find this book?” she asked, tapping a finger on the opened title page

 

Martin pulled out his notepad, _At my house._

 

She stared at the note and then eyed him suspiciously, “And what is your last name, Martin?”

 

_Van Dahl._

 

Her eyes widened, “I see.” she turned her attention back to the book and marveled at the hand-written letters on the vellum pages.

 

_I need it translated._

 

“You wish to unlock its secrets?” she raised an eyebrow

 

Martin nodded.

 

“I won't do it for free.” she said, flipping through more of the pages, “But, seeing as how you are a Van Dahl, I know you can afford it.”

 

Martin nodded in understanding, _How much?_

 

“We'll cross that bridge when we get there.” she said, “It will take time.”

 

She closed the book and removed her glasses. Since returning to Gotham, Martin had observed subtle differences in the faces of No Man's Land survivors. Those separated and left to die shared a likeness despite being comprised of smaller islands of communities and individuals. Simultaneously disunited and enslaved together by mutual turmoil. The wrinkles on Edwige's face had a hardened look to them and spoke of hardships she endured. A humble business owner left to die and be forgotten when the bridges blew.

 

“Do you know what this book is, Martin?” she asked

 

_I read the first few pages that were in English. I know it was written by someone named Alienor Frych._

 

“And what do you know of Alienor Frych?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and scrutinizing every detail of the eleven-year-old's face.

 

_She was one of the colonists who made Gotham._

 

“Anything else?”

 

Martin shook his head.

 

“I see. I'm not surprised. There aren't many people who know of her and her contributions to this city.”

 

_Who was she?_

 

“She was a daughter of Old Gotham. And this...” she placed a delicate hand on the leather cover, “Is her book of Magic.”

 

“Magic?” Luke asked, rummaging through a basket of clockwork parts next to an old phonograph.

 

“Yes. Within these pages are secrets that the founding families of Gotham are desperate to erase from their history.”

 

_Like what?_

 

“Curses. Spells. Forbidden evocations.” she explained, “And the names of those who burned Amity Arkham at the stake in Gotham Square.”

 

Martin's eyes widened at the name. He tried writing more questions on his notepad but Luke was quicker to the draw since he lacked limitations.

 

“Wicked.” Luke smirked, suddenly intrigued by the macabre origins of the strange book, “Was she a witch or something?”

 

“That is what the people of that time believed. In reality, she was probably just a strange and lonely little girl.”

 

“And they killed her for that?” Luke asked

 

“People can be cruel when they are faced with things they do not understand.”

 

“Aren't witches bad though?” Luke asked, “They are in all the movies and books I've read.”

 

“Not at all.” Edwige smiled and then turned her attention back to Martin. She stood and then waved Martin to the back of her store. Hesitantly, Martin followed her behind a beaded curtain to a separate room behind the register. Martin sneezed. Herbs hung from the ceiling in fragrant garlands. The walls were lined with shelves full of crystals and books.

 

Edwige was already busying herself at the counter on the opposite side of the entryway. She takes a black square of fabric and folds several herbs, some dirty looking salt, and a black stone at its center. She whispers something as she wraps a leather cord around it thirteen times, sealing all of the items inside.

 

“Take this.” she handed the sachet to him, “For protection.”

 

Martin raised an eyebrow.

 

“Don't give me that look. Trust me.” she took a step closer, “If you intend to follow down the path that you are on, you'll need it.”

 

 

Martin was having a difficult time masking his excitement as they walked down the street toward the limo. He would finally have the _Book of Old Gotham_ translated! He hoped that it would be the final piece to a centuries-old puzzle surrounding the Van Dahl family. Once he unlocked its secrets, he would finally understand what Millie Jane had been trying to warn him about all this time and, with any luck, he might even be able to help his dad solve the Gotham Arsonist case.

 

With Martin's elated mood, he hadn't noticed how quiet his friend was. After leaving the book with Edwige, Luke seemed to be lost in thought.

 

“Well, look at what we have here.” a familiar voice caught Martin by surprise. The boys both look up to see Barbara Kean and Leslie Gordon. Luke raised an eyebrow a thumbed over the knife in his pocket but relaxed when he saw Martin flash a smile at the two women.

 

“What brings you to the Narrows?” Lee asked

 

_Luke was just showing me around._

 

“Hello, Luke.” Lee smiled, holding out her hand, “I'm Lee.”

 

“Hi.” Luke shook her hand but grimaced as he did so. It wasn't every day that you got to meet the Queen of the Narrows.

 

“Well, be sure to get home before sundown. There have been some real wackos prowling the streets lately.” Barbara explained

 

With the fires devastating Gotham, hundreds of homeless Gothamites fled to the safety of smaller communities in the underground. One such community lived in the abandoned sewer tunnels and were led by a man named Deacon Blackfire. Outlandish rumors about him being some wizard who lived in a cave on the outskirts of Gotham prior to the Narrows were spreading throughout the City. Lee and Barbara were out investigating and ensuring that the cult he'd amassed weren't out to cause any trouble for them or Jim.

 

While Blackfire himself hadn't done any direct harm, some of his followers were responsible for a string of murders among the gangs and the remnants of the Dimitrov drug cartel. When brought into the GCPD for questioning, they claimed that they were doing what was right for Gotham. They were merely purging it of its sinners in an attempt to appease some old god and hopefully stop the fires that plagued Gotham.

 

Martin rolled the small, perfumed bag in the palm of his hand. He wasn't exactly sure what it was supposed to accomplish but, for some odd reason, it eased his fears. He wondered if it would finally help him ward off the Red-Eyed Woman. The woman he now knows was the ghost of Amity Arkham.

 

“Whatcha need protection from?” Barbara asked, pointing to the sachet

 

Martin made a face. How did she know what his gift from Edwige was for?, _Are you a Witch too?_

 

“I might have _dabbled_ when I was younger.” she smiled. She also might have had an ex-boyfriend who was an ancient immortal that collected magical tomes and artifacts from around the world, but the two boys didn't need to know about that, “But, seriously. What are you two up to?”

 

Martin pondered for a moment before deciding his next words. Barbara Kean had a large collection of antiques and seemed to know a lot about Gotham's history based on some of the exhibits she helped with at the museum. So, he didn't think it would hurt to ask, _What do you know about Amity Arkham and the curse she put on Gotham?_

 

Barbara blinked in confusion, “Amity Arkham? Can't say that I've heard of her.”

 

_What about Alienor Frych?_

 

“Nope. Doesn't ring any bells.” she said

 

Martin rolled his eyes. She was useless after all. He took Luke by the hand and continued their walk to the limo that would take them back to the Van Dahl mansion.

 

“What was that all about?” Lee pondered aloud

 

“Eh. They're just kids having a little bit of fun.” Barbara shrugged. However, what Martin said reminded her of something from one of Ra's al Ghul's books. She hadn't thought that it was of any importance but, if the Littlest Penguin was getting caught up in something as volatile as Magic, she wanted to make sure she at least gave that dusty old journal a look-see.

 

* * *

 

Harvey Dent had been scrolling through Gotham's newspapers for hours. If there was anything that remained a constant in Gotham it was the citizen's knack for dramatizing disaster. There was even a separate archive dedicated to Gotham's more infamous personalities. Among them being The Penguin, The Riddler, The Mad Hatter, The Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, Firefly, and numerous others. Harvey had no doubt that the catalog would continue to overflow given the City's current state.

 

He had little interest in reacquainting himself with those stories (he _especially_ didn't want to remind himself of the past crimes of his two clients) and instead was turning the dial on the Gotham newspaper index from two hundred years ago. Pilfering through the stacks and every book on Gotham's founding ended in disappointment, so he instead turned his attention to the fires of 1815.

 

Theodore Van Dahl was Mayor of Gotham and, to Harvey's surprise, his Chief of Staff was Robert Dent. Harvey hadn't ever known that one of his ancestors ever held such a position at City Hall. And, given what he'd read, he was beginning to understand why.

 

Robert Dent had been an excellent Chief of Staff to a rather nefarious mayor. Theodore Van Dahl had won over the heart of Gotham and, from an outsider's perspective, held the American Dream in the palm of his hand. He lived in luxury, held a position in politics, and had a picture-perfect family... or so the city thought.

 

According to the papers, Millie Jane Van Dahl had been blamed for the fires. She was a disturbed young girl who never played well with others and neglected her studies. When the news that she had been the arsonist terrorizing the city got out, Gotham directed its fangs to their once-beloved mayor. They claimed that he had known about it and had used his power to cover it up and preserve his reputation.

 

Robert Dent, in an attempt to save his friend and mayor from further slander, attempted to assuage Gotham on his own. He managed to instead direct their attention to the opening of the Arkham Lunatic Asylum and its founder, Amadeus Arkham. Millie Jane, the Mayor's own daughter, was one of the first patients to live within its walls.

 

A few months after her incarceration, she escaped and committed suicide at the Van Dahl mansion. Robert Dent spoke to the public about the Mayor's declining health and made no further comments regarding his friend's immediate resignation. Shortly after, the former mayor died of a heart attack and Robert Dent died in a mysterious house fire.

 

Harvey let out a gasp when he scrolled over the article about Millie Jane's suicide. There was a rather detailed illustration of the scene in the paper. The mahogany staircase and the checkerboard floor of the Van Dahl mansion were unmistakable. And, hanging beside it, was the lifeless body of Millie Jane. Her hair long and dark. Her nose sharp. She was wearing a dress with a lace collar.

 

The image of the girl standing next to Martin Van Dahl was seared into his brain. She was connected to that horrible nightmare and he wanted to understand why. He didn't want to believe in prophetic dreams or ghosts and was likely just succumbing to the stress surrounding the parole hearing for Mr. Cobblepot, but he couldn't focus on anything other than the mystery staring him in the face.

 

He threw his coat back on and headed straight for Arkham. Provided they were even still there, he wanted to read any and all records concerning the months that Millie Jane was locked in the asylum. Perhaps something that she said could shed some light on his situation.

 

Gaining access to those records proved more difficult than Harvey was prepared to deal with that afternoon. He wasn't allowed to access patient files, even older ones, without the explicit permission of the family. Even with his position as District Attorney and renown in Gotham, Harvey was denied. However, he knew that not all of the entrances were secured. Specifically, the ones around the wing currently undergoing renovations.

 

Harvey Dent had gotten a taste for adventure while working alongside Jim Gordon several years back and that itch never left him. As he stood in front of the boarded-up hallway leading toward the old records room, he pulled a silver coin out of his jacket pocket.

 

“Heads, I enter. Tails, I leave.” he said aloud. He flicked the coin high into the air, caught it, and exhaled. He opened his hand to reveal the face-up coin and couldn't help but smile. He'd given himself a fifty-fifty chance to turn around and abandon all of this nonsense, but Fate had other plans for him that day. He pocketed the coin and pried the boards away from the old window.

 

It was unnerving how easy it was to sneak into the asylum. The idea that a wandering patient could easily escape or even that vagrants of the Arkham housing district could make their way inside made him shiver. He would have to find a way to get this information to Mayor Hady without incriminating himself. If his complaint would even make a difference, that is. Hady hadn't exactly impressed him since taking office. If Harvey was honest with himself, he secretly wished Mr. Cobblepot would actually agree to be mayor again. At least then the atmosphere of City Hall wouldn't seem as bleak or, at best, apathetic.

 

Harvey took a turn past the statue of Constance Arkham and found the old records room. He hadn't mastered the skill of picking a lock but the knob was old enough that a gentle shove caused the door to open. The room inside was small. The yellowed paint peeled off of the walls in sheets and coated the floor in an acridly sweet powder. Harvey covered his mouth and nose as he ventured in.

 

It didn't take long to find the files he was looking for. Amadeus Arkham kept decent records of all of his patients and no one had ever bothered re-locating them. So, he supposed it was worth breaking into the asylum after all. The records annex at the main building wouldn't have been able to find what he was asking for in the first place.

 

The box on Millie Jane contained hand-written notes about her diagnosis, treatment, and written accounts of her sessions with Doctor Arkham. There was also an old, yellowed photograph of Millie Jane. She was staring directly ahead. Her pale eyes piercing his own. She had this fierce and determined look on her face. The relation to Oswald Cobblepot was almost uncanny. It also confirmed Harvey's fears that this girl _had_ been the one from his dream.

 

He pocketed the notes along with the photograph and a sealed, cardboard cylinder. As he rounded the corner back towards the statue, he bumped into a man wearing a doctor's coat.

 

“You shouldn't be here.” the man spoke

 

“Do you have any idea how easy it was for me to sneak in here? Your security could really use an upgrade, Mister... uh...” he looked at the man's name tag. He swallowed and it felt like pins and needles. He looked back at the younger man in front of him. He was much too young to be a doctor at the asylum. His eyes were sunken and his pupils were blown wide. Before Harvey could make any sort of attempt to escape, Jonathan Crane lifted his hand towards his face and pulled the pin on a device attached to his wrist. Smoke plumed around his face.

 

Harvey stumbled backwards and screamed. He knew what was coming but it still didn't prepare him for what he saw. His skin bubbled and burned. In front of him was a copy of himself pointing and laughing at his own misfortune. Coins spilling from his mouth as he too was engulfed in flames. Fear and anxiety caused him to hyperventilate to the point of passing out. He collapsed to the ground and slammed his head on the broken floorboards. The Scarecrow sighed and then proceeded to drag the man towards the lab in the basement.

 

“I've brought us another wayward soul.” the Scarecrow slammed open the door

 

“Oh, goodie!” The Hatter clapped his hands.

 

Ed merely rolled his eyes and continued reading his book. He enjoyed the company of the other two men, especially given the alternative, but he still preferred to distance himself from their more lurid exploits. However, when the Riddler saw the man that Crane was dragging into their den, he gasped.

 

“Please tell me you didn't kill him!” Ed jumped to his feet and checked the man for a pulse

 

“Unfortunately, I have not.” the Scarecrow sighed, disappointed, “He hit his head on the way down though.”

 

“Is there a problem?” The Hatter asked, sipping his tea

 

“Of course there is a problem!” Ed ran his fingers through his hair, “Do you have any idea who this is?”

 

“Harvey Dent.” Jervis replied, “We may be crazy but we are not stupid, Riddler. We know who he is.”

 

“He's Oswald's lawyer. You have to let him go.” Edward demanded

 

“I am frightfully sorry to have caused you such distress.” The Scarecrow gestured to the unconscious man on the floor, “Someone should warn him that curiosity killed the cat, however.” he hands Edward the files he took from Harvey's pockets.

 

Edward opened the file and was surprised by what he saw. He would have to figure out what Harvey Dent was doing with the file on Millie Jane another time. He turned to Jervis Tetch and sighed.

 

“I need you to make him forget that he was ever here. We can't have him getting second thoughts about helping Oswald when we're already so close to having him released.”

 

“It is already done, my friend.”

 

* * *

 

Luke hadn't spoken much since leaving the Narrows. Olga had already prepared lunch for when they returned. The boys had eaten in silence. Martin chewed on his nails in anticipation. Had he done something to upset his new friend?

 

Martin noticed that Luke kept pocketing extra food. Some bread, crackers, and even a whole apple. Things that would keep easily.

 

_Are you going somewhere?_

 

“Hm?” Luke still had a mouthful of alfalfa from his sandwich, “No?”

 

_Then why are you shoving food in your pockets?_

 

“Oh... Habit, I guess.” Luke shrugged, “You never know when you're going to be alone and hungry.” It's the cold season and Luke isn't going to pass up the opportunity to live in the _Penguin's_ mansion. He idolized the former mayor. The Penguin was the first adult to ever speak to him like he was an actual person. Everyone else treated him like he was a nuisance. But not the Penguin. However, Luke knew better than to make assumptions. The world was cruel, Gotham was crueler, and he was street-smart enough to know not to rely on anyone but himself.

 

 _But you're not alone. And I won't let you go hungry. I promise_ , Martin assured his friend. It was still a relatively new alliance but it was one that Martin knew he wanted to keep.

 

“I know that.” Luke smiled. He swallowed the last of his meal and then sighed, “Verity tells me the same thing.”

 

_That's because you're our friend._

 

“Yeah... So... about Ver.” he winces as he tries to find the words, “When are you going to tell her that you stole her book?”

 

Martin's eyes widened. It hadn't occurred to him that Luke would have known about the _Book of Old Gotham_ belonging to Verity.

 

_I didn't steal it. It was in my grandfather's library._

 

“But it belongs to Verity's family. And she's been looking for it for a long time.” he crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. It didn't seem like he appreciated Martin keeping that particular secret.

 

_I didn't know it belonged to her until she said something about it at the Founder's Dinner. Once I have it translated, I'll give it back._

 

“What's so special about this book anyway?” Luke sighed, “I don't get it.”

 

_It's a long story._

 

Luke shrugged, “Alright. I won't tell Ver that you have it so long as you promise to give it back. It means a lot to her.”

 

Martin nodded his head. He only needed to know the contents of the book. He didn't need to physically have it in his possession after that. However, he still felt guilty about keeping it a secret from his friends. And that secret obviously hurt Luke in some way. His eyes brightened as he got an idea.

 

“Where you going?” Luke called out to his friend as he ran out of the room.

 

Martin returned holding a large glass owl. He placed it on a table in front of the window. As the light shined through, a map appeared on the wall like an old projector. Luke dropped the apple he had just taken a bite out of.

 

“What are all of these red dots?” Luke pointed to the spots on the map.

 

_I don't know. Want to find out?_

 

“Fuck yeah!” Luke jumped in excitement, “The Vandals are going on an adventure!”

 

* * *

 

Barbara kept all of Ra's al Ghul's books in her office at the apartment. It didn't take her long to find the journal he kept on Gotham City. She had skimmed through it once before when she was the Demon's Head but didn't think that it was particularly useful to her at the time. She finally found the entry she was looking for and read over the words.

 

“Well... _shit.”_ Barbara slumped over in her chair. Suddenly, everything about the Gotham Arsonist and Deacon Blackfire made a whole lot of sense.

 

“What's wrong?” Lee asks, handing her a freshly made Gimlet

 

“Nothing.” She hastily closes the book and stands, “I just have to take care of something.”

 

“You sure?” Lee asked

 

“Yeah. Don't worry.” She smiles and sweetly kisses Lee, “Will you be alright watching Babs? I won't be long.”

 

“Sure thing but Jim should be home any minute. Do you want to wait?”

 

“N-no... I have to do this on my own.” Barbara insisted

 

Lee studies her girlfriend. She's never been great at hiding her emotions. There's worry in her eyes, “You sure you're okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Barbara lies.

 

She wrapped her coat tighter around her frame as she neared the docks. This was the place she had been instructed to meet her messenger within the League of Shadows. She didn't have to wait long before the street lamps flickered and a woman stood in front of her. She was young and stern-looking. Just like the rest of the assassins.

 

Barbara took a step closer and handed her the letter she had written, “I need you to deliver this.”

 

“The recipient?” The woman asked

 

“Talia al Ghul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Provided I don't have to flesh out any other sections, I think I've outlined everything and I should be able to conclude this story at around 25 chapters. That's not including the side stories, of course.


	11. Miagani Island

The Van Dahl greenhouse was one of his favorite places around the old mansion. His parents didn't venture in there when they were still living there and Olga always seemed creeped out by it. Yuri and Sofia had once tried to sneak off for a rendezvous but were quickly tangled in the bramble. Martin seemed to be the only member of the household that the plants allowed to be there.

 

One of Martin's favorite plants were these long, green chalices that looked like their leaves were filled with red veins. The tops of them look like mouths. They seemed to feed off of small pests and thrived off of the little treats Martin would bring them. Once he brought the largest one a rat he'd found in the garden and he could have sworn that the smaller plants had snaked their vines up his arm and hugged him. The idea of them actually being alive was ridiculous but he liked to fantasize that they were.

 

He frowned when he notices some of them turning brown. Their leaves were yellowed and frail. He looked around the greenhouse and found a sunnier spot for the plant and decided to move it. The petals seemed to shiver in their gratitude which made Martin smile.

 

The scent of vanilla wafted from the kitchen. Martin made his way down the hall and was surprised to find Verity wearing one of Olga's aprons and covered in flour.

 

“His Highness arrives!” she exclaims, haphazardly tossing flour and powdered sugar into the air.

 

_Do you always break into people's houses to bake cookies?_

 

“Mama Olga said it was fine,” Luke assured him, having easily read his sign language. He picked up on it fast which made Martin smirk.

 

They hear the sound of someone loudly slurping their drink through a straw. Their heads swivel around and they spot Victor Zsasz leaning against the doorframe.

 

“Don't mind me,” Zsasz says, a smirk on his face

 

“We don't need a babysitter.” Verity rolls her eyes and slides her hand to her hip.

 

“Just doin' my job.” Zsasz slides a ball of uncooked cookie dough off of the tray and pops it into his mouth.

 

“Stop that!” Verity boldly swatted at the assassin, “These are for when we get back from our adventure.”

 

“Yeah, about that...” Zsasz sleight-of-hands another ball off the tray, “Where are we goin' exactly?”

 

“The _Vandals_ are going to Miagani Island to explore the tunnels there. _You_ can stay here and do assassin stuff or whatever it is you do around here.”

 

“Nope. Big Boss says I gotta tag along.” he ignored her attempt at barking orders at him and tossed the cookie dough into the air before catching it in his mouth.

 

“But this is supposed to be our first official outing as the Vandals! Right, your Highness?”

 

Martin answered with a shrug. He didn't see what the fuss was about. He liked having Uncle Zsasz around.

 

“I think we should make him an honorary Vandal,” Luke suggested

 

“You can't be serious.” Verity groaned. The flour clung to her hair and lashes, making her appear even more ghost-like than normal.

 

“Why not?” Luke chuckled, “Martin's our leader, I'm his right-hand man, Zsasz can be the muscle!”

 

“And what does that make _me_ exactly?” Verity narrowed her eyes. She didn't like not being included.

 

 _The Brains?_ Martin signed.

 

“I accept this position.” She scowled, nose high in the air

 

“Good. Now, can we get going?” Luke asked, hopping down from where he was perched on the counter.

 

“Let's make this official first!” Verity grabbed the marble rolling pin and walked up to the leader-clad bodyguard, “Kneel.”

 

“Excuse me?” Zsasz raised a hairless brow. He turned toward Martin who just shrugged his shoulders.

 

“It's not like you're kissing a ring or anything.” She sighed, a hand firmly on her hip in a posture that Martin was noticing was just her natural state.

 

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Zsasz keeled.

 

“By the Spirit of Gotham, I name you an honorary Vandal.” she tapped him on either shoulder with the rolling pin

 

“It's an honor.” Zsasz places a hand over his heart and smiles. It's oddly warm and almost out of place. It's similar to the look he wears when he gets a new gun.

 

“Shouldn't Martin be the one who gets to knight people? He _is_ the Prince, after all.”

 

“Yeah, well...” her cheeks filled with air, making her look akin to a chipmunk, _“I'm_ the Witch out of the three of us so I get to do the knighting! The high priestess of any coven is the one who gets to allow new members into the circle.”

 

“Yeah, but we're a gang. Not a coven, ya weirdo.” Luke teased

 

“ _Just...”_ she started to yell but then took a breath, “...let me feel useful, okay?”

 

Luke and Martin frowned.

 

“You're useful, Ver,” Luke reassured her

 

“Alright.” Zsasz interrupted, “Now that that's out of the way: Where to first, Boss?”

 

* * *

 

“You could always just set the tunnels on fire. That'll weed them out.” Ed suggested with a flippant wave of his hand.

 

“Yeah, because that's _just_ what this city needs.” Lee rolled her eyes, “You know people live down in those tunnels, right?”

 

“Precisely the problem.” Ed leaned back in his chair, “The Narrows doesn't have enough room for housing. So your people are fleeing. If you can't provide for them, then they're going to go elsewhere. Basic economics.”

 

“So what do you suggest that I do?” Lee asked. She'd been visiting him more and more in recent months. Despite their tumultuous past, she still valued his advice. She couldn't really confide in Barbara or Jim. Barb didn't understand the Narrows and Jim wasn't _technically_ supposed to know that she was still running the Narrows.

 

Ed drummed a steady rhythm on the table, “What have you gathered on Deacon Blackfire so far?”

 

“Not much. He's some kind of cult leader.”

 

“Greeeat. Another one of those.” Ed scrunched his nose, “Do you know the specifics of what he's preaching?”

 

“We can't seem to get any of our people down there to investigate. All we know is what we've heard topside from rumors.” she explained, “He's got them all convinced that he's some kind of immortal who used to live in a cave on one of the smaller islands around Gotham. They think he can save them from the fires. Some of them have even claimed that the fires are some kind of punishment.”

 

“How is he getting resources down into the tunnels? There must be some way he's providing for them. I doubt they can be self-sufficient down there on their own.”

 

“They have to be stealing it from outside the Narrows. I'd ask Jim, but I don't want him getting suspicious.”

 

“Have you asked Oswald? He still has connections within the GCPD.”

 

she sighed, “I suppose I could.”

 

“But you don't want to?” Ed lifted a brow, leaning forward

 

“I don't want to bury myself too deeply into the Underworld. I... _appreciate_ him and I _cannot_ believe I'm saying this, I agree with most everyone that Gotham is better off with him in charge. But I want the Narrows to remain independent.”

 

“And they can't if their Queen is indebted to the Penguin.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Edward sat there for a moment and considered their options. His eyes danced around the table as he made silent calculations in his head, “I have claws but am not a bird. Unstirred in beams of sunshine. Whose lives summed up equal nine. What am I?”

 

“No way am I sending Selina Kyle down there.” she exclaimed, “It's too dangerous.”

 

“I'm not saying you should.” he ran his hands across the table, drawing circles, “Cat knows the Narrows. She can slink in and out and gather information for you in places you haven't thought to look. She can also sneak into the GCPD and get information from Penguin's informants without you necessarily having to go through him directly.”

 

“She does seem like she needs something to do to get her mind off of Bruce Wayne...”

 

“See. You'd be doing her a favor.” Ed smirked, triumphant

 

“Thanks, Ed.” she smiled and then stood up to leave, “Martin seems to be playing nicely with his new friends. Just thought you'd like to know.”

 

“I'm glad. Little guy was cooped up in that mansion all the time.”

 

“I'll be sure to keep an eye on him for the two of you,” she told him

 

“You and the rest of the Rogue's Gallery.”

 

* * *

 

Victor Zsasz drove the Vandals down to the southern pier. His excuse for being their chauffeur that afternoon was that he could have control over what music blared in the car on the way there. Luke tried to argue that the person riding shotgun should have control over the radio but Zsasz merely disagreed with an ominous glare and then turned up the volume on _We Are Family_ by Sister Sledge. It took the younger Vandals a moment to acclimate to the outdated music but eventually, they were all shouting the chorus. Martin smiled brightly and danced in the front passenger seat- not quite recalling a time where he'd had this much fun.

 

When they arrived, Zsasz exchanged the keys to the car for a boat. Martin recognized the man and nodded towards him. The man, one of the nameless foot soldiers employed by his father, nodded in return but quickly averted his eyes toward the ground as he walks towards the car. The Little Penguin instilled a fair bit of fear into the Underworld and that fact did not go unnoticed by him. It delighted him to no end. His fathers would be proud.

 

“We're not taking the ferry?” Verity asked

 

“None of the ferries go to the island.” Zsasz explained, “Also if we run into trouble, it's always a good idea to have control over your getaway vehicle.”

 

“You think we'll run into trouble?” Luke asked

 

“With you three?” he winked, “No doubt about it.”

 

Miagani Island is much smaller than Martin imagined. From the shore, the statue of Lady Gotham stood on the water like some kind of ethereal giant. She was one of the few comforts Martin had when he was trapped on the mainland. The window in his dorm room faced the river and, if he climbed up on the roof, he could see Lady Gotham herself watching over him. Calling out to him and reminding him where his home was.

 

He remembered the night that the lights went out in Gotham. The explosions rumbled beneath his feet as he and the rest of the students at Cardy all looked on in horror as their home went dark. He had hopes that the Penguin, the Riddler, and even Mister Zsasz were safe. He always viewed them as these unkillable figures. Strong, resourceful, and able to withstand anything that was thrown at them.

 

But... even his faith had faltered. A year had gone by with no word from the lonely island and Martin had assumed that they had been swallowed up by the ghouls and monsters that prowled in the dark.

 

Zsasz parked their speedboat at the small pier. He made sure to show Martin how to tie a proper Bowline before they made their way to the island proper.

 

“Been a while since I've gone _spelunking,_ ” Zsasz said with a mischievous grin.

 

“What's spelunking?” Luke asked, not liking the way the word sounded.

 

“It's when you...” he stopped in his explanation and stared at the three kids that had been left in his care, “You know what, nevermind.”

 

“It sounds gross.” Verity scrunches her nose

 

“Where's this cave at?” Zsasz asked, changing the subject.

 

Martin opened the map he sketched out in preparation for their excursion. He had used the notes Millie Jane left behind along with the extensive map he'd uncovered using the glass owl. He turned it over in his hands while Zsasz gave each of the Vandals a flashlight and fitted them to a harness. Less for actual climbing purposes because the tunnels shouldn't be too difficult to traverse, but they added some protection in case they fell.

 

The tunnels and interconnected cave system were larger than the actual island itself. One area in particular interested Martin. It was an oddly centralized round room located at the darkest depths of the cave complex. Only one tunnel seemed to lead there.

 

They came to the cave entrance and pried away the wooden boards blocking their way. It was an old abandoned maintenance shaft for the Gotham City Water Company. The shafts had all but been abandoned after Jeremiah Valeska had poisoned the river. Wayne Enterprises had made sure to rebuild the water plant in a more centralized location that wasn't tainted by the old, lead-lined pipes or residual toxins.

 

Martin led the way through the winding paths of moldy wooden scaffolding and precariously balanced stones. Verity and Luke were quick on his heels while Zsasz brought up the rear. He wanted to make sure they were allowed to have their fun without an adult doting on them the entire way.

 

“What's that say?” Luke pointed to some carvings on one of the stone faces. It wasn't like the rest of the graffiti that littered the walls. The sharp, angular symbols were carved in deep. The edges had mostly eroded with age.

 

They looked old but not at all like the kinds of symbols the Nanticoke people would have left. These symbols seemed more Germanic than Native.

 

“They're runes, I think. I don't know how to read them though.” Verity touched the surface of the blackened stone and shivered. She held her breath.

 

“You okay, Ver?” Luke asked, worried.

 

“Y-yeah... Just got a chill.” she looked around and saw that the stone had been moved. How and for what reason, none of them could discern, “Something old used to live here.”

 

“Spooky.” Luke looked down the seemingly bottomless pit that the stone used to cover and whistled. The sound echoed.

 

“You know monsters aren't real, right?”

 

“Don't be a jerk, Luke.” Verity pulled her jacket tighter around her. She blamed it on the winter chill, “How much further, Your Highness?”

 

 _Down here,_ he pointed and led them down another corridor.

 

The tunnel descended further down into the cave complex. Eventually, any evidence that people had ever been down there had vanished. All that surrounded them was cold, dark stone. They turned on their flashlights and continued their search for the round room. Victor Zsasz made sure to tie a line over one of the remaining wooden beams so that they would have something to guide them back.

 

They were close. So close in fact that Martin was no longer looking ahead of them. His eyes remained transfixed on the map he'd drawn in his notebook. They should have come across the round room by now...

 

He slipped and felt like the floor had bottomed out underneath him. He yelped as he was suddenly pulled back by the collar of his harness.

 

“Careful.” Zsasz chided, “That's a long way down.”

 

Martin looked ahead of him and realized that he had nearly walked right into a hole. His eyes widened and he swallowed. He turned to Uncle Zsasz who seemed just as curious about the hole as he was.

 

There was a narrow ledge that they could use to shimmy their way down the hole. The area below them gave off an ominous glow that reflected off of the crystalline stalactites and stalagmites. He recognized the formations from a book he'd read on indigenous rocks in the area and identified them as being mostly made of Rutile and a cloudy green Chlorite Quartz.

 

Zsasz tied off another rope and secured a repelling line to Martin's harness. One by one the Vandals descended the cave. When they reached the bottom, it was as if the walls were singing. The smallest of hums echoed in a constant vibration off the crystal walls and rang up and down the corridors.

 

“What is that?” Luke asked, motioning towards the source of the eerie green glow.

 

They had expected to find some kind of treasure but, instead... they found a small fountain of water. Or, at least, they _assumed_ it was water. The surface was cloudy and gave off an unnatural bio-luminescence. The fountain itself was unassuming. Just a stone basin of water with no discernible markings and a steady trickle of glowing water dripping down from the stalactites.

 

“Is it that toxic stuff that was in the river?” Luke inquired. Getting a little too close to the illuminated basin.

 

“Beats me,” Zsasz said

 

_I want to take some with us._

 

“How do you wanna do that?” Zsasz raised a brow

 

Martin tugged at Zsasz's pocket.

 

“Really?”

 

Martin nodded.

 

“ _Fine.”_ Zsasz pulled out his hip flask and downed the remaining alcohol. It smelled sweet and syrupy. It reminded Martin of whipped cream and peaches. Not at all like the wines and amber liquids his fathers drank.

 

Zsasz dipped his flask into the water and filled it with the mysterious liquid. It remained glowing even inside the darkened container. He capped it and tucked it safely away in his breast pocket.

 

“I don't like it down here.” Verity shivered. Her teeth were chattering. She wound her arms tightly around herself and began clawing into her own arms.

 

“Hey.” Luke walked up to her and held her shoulders, “Everything's gonna be fine. Right, Zsasz?”

 

“Yeah, we should leave.” he stated firmly, “Playtime's over. Let's go home.”

 

The climb back up was more perilous. Zsasz took point and ended up just pulling the three preteens up the hole by their repelling lines. When they reached the top, the four of them didn't waste any time making their way back up the long tunnel and towards the safety of daylight.

 

Zsasz stopped and looked around as he allowed the Vandals to walk passed him. He peered down at the blackness behind them.

 

_What's wrong?_

 

“Just thought I heard something.” Zsasz shrugged, “Probably nothing.”

 

* * *

 

Barbara's glittering heels clicked along the glossy floor of the Siren's Club. She'd managed to secure the deed out from under the Penguin but hadn't gotten around to reopening it after No Man's Land. It had been her sanctuary for so long, but now all it held for her were bitter memories. There were many things she could forgive Pengy for, but killing Tabby wasn't one of them.

 

She took the time to clean the dust from the bar and poured some drinks in preparation for her meeting. She wasn't entirely sure how it was going to go, but she was at least determined to be a charming hostess.

 

She waited long enough to get nervous. She let out a frustrated groan before standing and downing the rest of her drink in one gulp.

 

“Hello, Barbara.” a young voice called out from the dark. Barbara yelped.

 

“You certainly know how to keep a girl on her toes.” she sat back down and poured herself another drink.

 

“You still possess a part of the Demon's Head. I'm surprised you didn't see me coming.” the dark-haired youth stalked through the room. Her own heels were silent as she glided across the floor. She held herself with a sort of supernatural ease that made Barbara shiver.

 

“It's been a while.” she smiled, “You're all grown up.”

 

Talia al Ghul resembled her father more than her sister Nyssa did. She was tall and lean. Her brow was dark. Hooded with thinly veiled bitterness. She had her father's hazel eyes.

 

“You didn't send for me just to chit-chat, Barbara.” she cut to the chase and sat down at the bar across from her father's former ally and brief lover.

 

“I assume you've heard about the goings-on of Gotham as of late.” she set the old journal with all of Ra's al Ghul's ravings atop the bar.

 

“I have.” Talia raised an eyebrow

 

“This has happened before. No Man's Land, the fires, the cult of Blackfire... All of it.”

 

Talia sighed and then re-positioned herself. Barbara had set out a pitcher of ice water for the younger woman. She poured herself a glass and marveled at the beads of condensation before continuing, “Long ago, when the Court of Owls served my father, they were tasked with maintaining order within Gotham. However, they failed more often than they succeeded. As I'm sure you recall.”

 

“Yeah, their idea of maintaining order was to wipe the slate clean and kill everybody.”

 

“My father allowed it to happen because he said it was the natural cycle for Gotham. Like an ouroboros forever doomed to consume its own tail.”

 

“You're saying there's no way we can stop this?” she swallowed

 

“I never said that.” Talia sighed, “But doing so would be difficult for us. Especially now.”

 

“Why's that?”

 

“You paved the way for a woman to rule over the League of Shadows. For that, I am forever in your debt. My father had no intention of ever allowing Nyssa or myself to rule when he was gone. He was far too preoccupied with finding his heir.” she explained, scrunching her nose in disgust, “But not everyone agrees with my inheritance.”

 

“But you're Ra's al Ghul's daughter. That should mean something.”

 

“It does to some within the League of Shadows. But there are those who have rebelled and carved out their own territory here in Gotham.”

 

“In Gotham?” Barbara slammed her glass down, “As in right now?”

 

“If my suspicions are correct, they are hiding beneath Miagani Island. Guarding the Lazarus Pit.”

 

“Wait... the _Lazarus Pit?_ I thought it was destroyed when Ra's died.”

 

“The one my father built under the Yuyan building was a mockery of the original. There is a well-spring hidden deep in the caves below Miagani that is a much purer source.” she explained, “The rebels in the League are clinging to the old ways and are preventing those loyal to me from reclaiming it.”

 

“And you're just going to let them get away with it?” Barbara scowled, “Come on, Talia. I know you. I remember how fierce you were. Even as a kid. What's really keeping you from waltzing in there and taking what's rightfully yours?”

 

“Growing up, my father told my sister and me many stories of Gotham's myths and monsters. Of the Miagani people and their Bat God. The old parasitic _thing_ that dwells within Arkham. Of Calamity.”

 

“What calamity?”

 

“Not a what but a _whom._ ” she clarified, “Calamity is a ghost from Gotham's sordid past that the Court of Owls has had control over since the City's founding.”

 

“Amity Arkham. The Witch that Edmunde Van Dahl burned at the stake hundreds of years ago?”

 

“The very same.” she said, “Like most of the spirits that haunt these islands, Amity is vengeful. When left to her own devices, she brings with her _fire_ and damnation.”

 

“Fire? You're telling me that a ghost caused all of this?” she gestured toward the large window, flames licking the night sky.

 

“You say that as if it is unbelievable.” she smirked, “My dear Barbara, after all that you have seen and experienced firsthand, is a ghost really so unheard of?”

 

* * *

 

Winter nights at Blackgate, much like Arkham, were cold. Oswald had managed to smuggle in an electric blanket that he used to warm the small bed in his cell. The green and purple quilt that was placed lovingly on top smelled fragrantly of Edward's cologne and mint soap. It was slowly losing its potency which only made the Penguin more anxious.

 

His parole hearing couldn't come fast enough.

 

He awoke with a start at the feeling of someone touching his hair. He grabs their wrist and pulls a shiv out from under his pillow. The intruder gasped as a sharpened piece of jail fence wire was firmly pressed to his throat. He gently wrapped his fingers around Oswald's own.  
  
“Ed?”

 

“Shh...” Ed places a finger against his lips and smiled. Oswald, overwhelmed, threw his arms around his partner and choked back a sob. Ed pulled back so he had room to sign.  
  


_Hello, my beautiful bird._

 

_Hello, you big idiot._

 

Edward cupped his face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips, just like he promised in their letters. Wet tears streamed down both of their faces as the weight of being separated for nearly two tears evaporated in an instant.

 

Edward had been sneaking into his cell at night and watching him as he slept. He had been hesitant to wake him for fear of causing an argument or alerting the guards. Luckily, the Mad Hatter had infiltrated Blackgate alongside him and had hypnotized the guards with ease.

 

He placed another kiss on his lover's cheek. He frowned at how frail he felt beneath his touch.

 

 _You need to take better care of yourself,_ he scolds, _You're thin._

 

_And you look like a rat._

 

Edward smiled, _I have to keep playing the part of a crazy person for a little while longer._

 

 _I missed you,_ Oswald trembled and he mirrored Ed's affectionate hold. They sat there, two songbirds, holding one another's faces and admiring their gazes. They pressed their foreheads together.

 

Jervis stepped through the doorway and cleared his throat. Ed sighed.

 

_Promise me you'll eat better?_

 

 _I promise._ He smiled and kissed him again. Much firmer this time. They needed it to tide them over until they were next reunited.

 

With the last of their willpower, they forced themselves to part. Oswald turned towards Jervis Tetch who was still standing in the entryway to his cell with a guard in his thrall.

 

“Thank you,” Oswald whispers as quietly as he could.

 

To his surprise, Jervis signed in response, _You're welcome._

 

In an instant, he scooped the Penguin into an awkward hug. Oswald yelped and quickly covered his mouth. Jervis- who seems to have little understanding of personal boundaries- squeezed him tightly before fleeing the cell.

 

 _See you soon,_ Ed signed with a firm nod of his head.

 

_Soon._

 

* * *

 

It was already dark by the time they exited the cave. Zsasz was uncharacteristically quiet the entire drive back. Martin noticed that he kept checking the mirrors and even took a more unconventional route towards the mansion. He also kept his phone in his lap and was texting someone.

 

“Gonna make a pit stop.” Zsasz took a sharp right turn which caused all of them to slam into the side of the car.

 

Martin turned to look out the back window. It didn't look like anyone was following them. He turned to Zsasz, _What's wrong?_

 

“Nothing's wrong.” He lied. Martin could tell by the stoic look on his face.

 

He took a roundabout down an alley on the West End. There was a club nearby in the basement of one of the local spirit shops. A man dressed in leather and sporting an eyepatch came out to greet them.

 

“Yo.” he smiled far too kindly for someone wearing that many guns on his belt.

 

“Kids, this is Headhunter.”

 

They all nodded and shifted nervously.

 

“You two go with him. He'll take you somewhere safe. Boss, you come with me.”

 

“W-what's going on?” Verity asked, hesitant to go with the stranger.

 

“Don't argue.” Zsasz growled, “We don't have time. Just go with Headhunter and everything will be peachy-keen. Alright?”

 

Verity and Luke groaned and made their way down the stairs towards the club.

 

“You kids like disco?” Headhunter asked before closing the door behind them.

 

Martin spun on his heels towards his bodyguard and almost signed too quickly for Zsasz to translate, _Someone followed us._

 

“Yep. Not sure who. Come on.” He waved them back toward the car.

 

He continued to wind through the narrow alleyways until he came to one of the back roads leading through the Gotham Woods and the dirt path that led to the back of the Van Dahl estate. Martin didn't really like being out in the woods when it was dark out. He thrust his hand into his pocket and held the protective sachet Edwige had given him.

 

Yuri greeted them in the driveway.

 

“I sent Olga to a safe house like you said. What the hell is going on?” the Russian flicked a cigarette in Zsasz's direction.

 

“The kid's in danger. We need to-”

 

Blood splattered across his face. He pulled Martin to his chest as Yuri Dimitrov's head bounced down stone steps. His body fell in front of them with a wet 'plop.' Zsasz spotted movement and didn't hesitate to pull out his gun and shoot.

 

He and Martin ran inside under the cover of gunfire. The lights flickered and suddenly they were surrounded. Zsasz risked taking his hand off of Martin to draw his second pistol and began firing into the group of them. Some of them dropped like flies while others dodged and made their way closer to the pair.

 

One of them managed to slice through his body armor on his leg- severing his femoral. Martin gasped, drew his own knife, and lunged forward. He managed to stab through the meat of the assassin's arm before Zsasz managed to pull him away.

 

“Stay back!” he yelled and lodged a bullet between the assassin's eyes.

 

The room was clear but Zsasz could see movement outside. He hoisted Martin over his shoulder and limped as quickly as he could over to one of the secret panels near the greenhouse door. They reached the door just as Zsasz collapsed from the blood loss.

 

“Here.” he thrust the flask into Martin's hand, “Take that and run.”

 

Both of them yelped in pain as several knives flew in their direction. Martin looked down and saw that three of them were lodged squarely in Zsasz's chest. Zsasz, with the last of his strength, pushed Martin through the opening and closed the door.

 

The intruder calmly walked up to him and unsheathed a sword. However, Zsasz didn't have time for his dramatics and blew him away with a single magnum shot to the face.

 

“Well... this sucks.”

 

The house is quiet again. All he can hear is the sound of blood dripping onto the wooden floors. His eyes wandered over to the portrait of Oswald Cobblepot. The bright green question mark still marring its varnished surface, “Sorry, bro. I did what I could.”

 

* * *

 

Martin secured the door from the other side. Mister Lark had advised him to install a mechanism so that it could be locked from the one side in case he ever had to flee the mansion. He pressed his ear to the door and listened. He pounded his first against it when he couldn't hear anything.

 

He wiped snot, blood, and tears on his sleeve and began walking down the tunnel. He swayed as his heart pounded in his chest. He was nauseous and lightheaded. He leaned against the walls of the tunnel and waited for his vision to clear.

 

When he looked down, he saw blood. He turned around and his eyes followed a trail of bright red drops all the way the where he was standing. He felt a foreign object lodged in his gut. One of the knives had managed to catch him in the abdomen.

 

Panicked, he removed the knife. He fell to his knees and immediately regretted the decision. There was a fountain of blood now.

 

He forced himself to stand and leaned against the wall as he made his way further down the tunnel. He wasn't sure where he was going. He just knew he needed to escape. If he didn't make it, Zsasz would have died for nothing. His friends would have been put in danger for no reason. His parents were both going to be sad and it was all going to be his fault.

 

He lost track of how long he had been walking. He stopped for a moment and rubbed at his eyes. When he looked around, he found that he no longer recognized the tunnel. Vines tore through the crumbling brick and seemed to encroach on his location.

 

He took a step back as they moved closer still. He gasped and stumbled backward, head over feet, down an unseen hole. He screamed. He wasn't sure if it was from the pain or fear.

 

He landed on a bed of moss and what he assumed was grave dirt. He was too tired to continue crying. He tried lifting his limbs but found that he couldn't. Instead, he resigned himself to looking up towards the ceiling as vines crept closer and closer. He was probably going to die there. And no one was going to find him.

 

...but then his eyes fluttered open.

 

“Good morning, sunshine.” a voice called to him.

 

He leaned forward and looked around the room. It was filled with plants and a hazy mist that made him feel tingly all over. He pulled at his shirt and saw that the wound had mostly healed. A sickly green paste that smelled like death and honey was slathered all over the knife wound.

 

“I would have used you as fertilizer, but my friends here said that you've always been kind to them.” She kissed an odd-looking plant and Martin recoiled slightly as it moved around like some kind of snake.

 

“Don't be scared. They won't hurt you.”

 

Martin swallowed. He'd heard rumors about a Witch that lived beneath Robinson Park. He had tried to explore the tunnels around there but always managed to get lost or caught up in thorny brier. He reached into his pocket for his spare pad of paper and a pen.

 

_Who are you?_

 

She read it, slightly perplexed, “I'm Ivy.”

 

His eyes widened, _You knew my father._

 

“I did?” she cocked her head to the side. Her hair was bright red and matted. Leaves and vines clung to her skin. She resembled some kind of sinister nymph.

 

Martin nodded his head and wrote, _The Penguin._

 

Ivy scowled, “Pengy had a kid?”

 

Martin nodded again, _Will you help me?_

 

“Why would I do that?” her tone had changed. The carnivorous plants around her all hissed.

 

Martin looked around him, shocked. His father always spoke of Ivy like she was his sister. But, he was beginning to think that might have been a lie. Suddenly, he got an idea.

 

He pulled the flask from his pocket and held it out toward her.

 

“What's that supposed to be?” she crossed her arms, unimpressed.

 

He bit his lip and continued to hold it out towards her.

 

Curious, she stalked towards him and took the flask from him. She twisted off the top and gasped when she saw the glowing green liquid. She ran over to a chemistry set that was set up in the corner. She removed some of the verdigris liquid and allowed a single drop to fall onto a patch of dirt at her feet. Saplings sprouted from the ground and small red flowers kissed at her ankles. She cried at the sight of them.

 

“Where did you find this?”

 

_I stole it._

 

“Clever boy.” she smiled

 

he shook his head, _Now there are bad people after me._

 

“Oh?” she set the flask aside

 

Martin was hesitant to turn his notepad around. He sniffled, _I'm scared._

 

Ivy inclined her head and observed him, not entirely certain what to make of him.

 

_I can't fight them alone._

 

“Who says you'll be alone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivy joins the party! And Zsasz... well... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> It'll all be fine. Eventually. Maybe.


	12. A Coffin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've basically reached the midway point of this story! I'm still combing through the previous chapters (and even the side stories), tweaking some stuff, and fixing my typos lol. I don't use a beta so there are a lot of mistakes derp derp.
> 
> I hope you are all still enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it! Thank you for sticking it out with me thus far. Your comments act like Lazarus water and I appreciate every drop.

The Riddler followed his son through the halls of Arkham.

 

As he ran through the narrow passageways, he caught glimpses of Martin's curly hair and bright face. He looked just as clever, mischievous, and full of life as he always had. No matter how fast the Riddler ran, the boy managed to stay just outside of his reach.

 

“Martin?” he called out, his voice sounded like it was being played through an old gramophone.

 

He rounded the corner after him and had to take a moment to ground himself... The library at the Van Dahl mansion was in shambles. Pages were torn from books and the furniture was charred. Scraps of burned paper rained down on him. He clenched his eyes shut and counted backward from ten. However, that only made the vision worse.

 

Rebar and concrete debris littered the floor alongside tiny shoes and pools of blood. Instead of book pages, ash and glassy embers drifted in the air like snow- coating everything in a haunting sea of grey. He made his way through the library and into the sunroom. Ivory keys decorated the checkered floor like teeth plucked from a corpse. Scorched and splintered wood was all that remained of the Blüthner grand piano.

 

Ahead of him was a long winding hallway that he knew wasn't part of the mansion. He nearly hit his head when he ducked down into the hallway. It was much too small for Ed, but the perfect size for the eleven-year-old to traverse. Like it was made just for him.

 

He finally reached the end of the hall and walked through the threshold back into a more familiar part of the mansion. White cloth covered all of the furniture and blue light pooled in through the windows. Music played but Ed couldn't decipher the song. It was slow and off-putting. Like a child's music box being played in reverse.

 

He hitched his breath when he saw the coffin.

 

The casket was wine-colored with gold trim. A white dendrobium orchid and calla lily arrangement was mournfully placed on top. Oswald looked like he was sleeping, _peaceful_ even, surrounded by an assortment of origami penguins.

 

Ed swallowed and took the small, paper butterfly from his breast pocket. He kissed its wings and then placed it into the coffin over his dead lover's heart.

 

Slowly, the casket filled with water. Blood oozed out from the bullet wound in Oswald's abdomen as he sank to the bottom like a stone. The unrelenting river water spilled over the casket and out onto the floor.

 

Stumbling, he slipped. As he rose back to his feet he noticed Martin standing in the room with him. He's finally close enough to be within reach. Ed took a step closer but stopped the moment Martin reeled backward, sheltering his face with his hands.

 

Ed reached out to comfort him but something caught his eye. His gaze honed in on the broken skin around his knuckles. His hands were swollen and covered with grime. He looked up again, wide-eyed and furious, and saw that Martin had a black eye and bloody nose.

 

“I... I didn't mean to hurt you.” Ed cried. He felt sick to his stomach when his voice didn't sound like his own. His speech was slurred and it reeked of cigarettes and cheap beer. He stumbled forward, blackened mud caked to his combat boots...

 

He's startled awake and finds himself unable to breathe. He puts a hand to his chest, heart pounding behind his rib cage. He takes in a lungful of air and immediately starts choking. Perhaps dozing off in a lab filled with Fear Toxin fumes wasn't a wise decision.

 

The unforgiving January cold seeped into the walls of the older wing of Arkham Asylum. Winter was always grim and unforgiving and this year was especially dreary. However, there was a tremor of electricity in the air. _Something_ lay in wait and it was keeping all of Gotham on her toes.

 

The Riddler sat across from the glass vials of bubbling liquid and beakers filled with cloudy concoctions that reeked of decay. How Jonathon Crane was able to create anything of quality under these conditions astounded him.

 

He clapped his book closed and set it down on the table in their makeshift laboratory. He palmed at his eyes and winced at the dizzying images seared onto the back of his eyelids. With a sigh, he pulled the paper butterfly from his pocket. It was made out of lined, yellow notebook paper and smelled vaguely of Sobranie cigarettes. The wings were uneven and the paper was flimsy where Oswald had unsuccessfully folded and re-folded the keepsake. Ed thought it and all of its delicate imperfections were perfect.

 

Jon had fallen asleep while waiting for his latest batch of Fear Toxin to distill. Since he began posing as a doctor at the asylum, the Scarecrow wore the typical uniform of those that stalked through the halls of B Wing. It was a drastic change from his burlap sack and tattered striped jumpsuit.

 

Seeing him like this was rare. His hair was frizzy and his expression wasn't as hard or ireful. Ed had noticed, on more than one occasion, that the Scarecrow persona was more than just a physical mask the young anarchist wore. He remembered the Crane case. Gerald Crane kept extensive notes on the experiments he did on his son and how he reacted to the many iterations of the toxin.

 

The Scarecrow had been born from that trauma. He recalled overhearing Jim talk to Harvey about how the doctors had said that the overdose had left him with permanent, nightmarish hallucinations- often in the form of the Scarecrow. So, in an attempt to control those demons, Jonathon embraced it and opted to simply _become_ that which he feared. Which was certainly something the Riddler could relate to.

 

Bells jangled overhead. Ed's hand grazed over the small knife that he had taped under the table and waited. Jonathon's eyes shot open, a murderous glare fixated on the door. His expression softened the moment Jervis Tetch walked in carrying three styrofoam cups full of tea.

 

“With such foul faces am I greeted,” he frowned, “I thought that a pick-me-up was needed.”

 

He handed the cups to his friends with a smile. Ed thanked him and sipped at the, admittedly, stale tea. Jonathon groaned his thanks, drank it in one gulp, and then promptly fell back to sleep. The Hatter sat cross-legged on a spinning chair and drank his tea with his characteristic whimsy.

 

“How are you today, my friend?” he asked

 

“I've had better mornings,” Ed answered, tucking the butterfly back into his pocket.

 

“Still plagued by unpleasant dreams?”

 

“I'd rather not talk about it,” Ed's jaw clenched. He'd been having nightmares for weeks. The two personalities were at odds with one another which often meant they entrapped themselves in an endless game of self-sabotage. Normally he could keep his more erratic tendencies under control through logic... but these fears were grounded in just enough reality that the line between exaggerated fear and reason was muddled.

 

Having a family hadn't been a goal for him since Kristen. Seeing her at the GCPD had always inspired idyllic images of white picket fences, a mint green house in suburbia, and rosy-cheeked children. A perfect little homestead far away from Gotham and its miasma of pain. That had always been the fantasy, but that type of life was never in the cards for him.

 

However, Edward found himself in a position where that kind of life seemed... _almost present_. Instead of manicured lawns and PTA meetings, he was living at a mansion near the woods and helping the love of his life run the city's underworld. Instead of attending baseball games and math league competitions, he was teaching his son the etiquette of torture and how to smuggle explosives inside of bread loaves.

 

Ed was fond of his found family. Martin was the son that he had never realized he wanted and his belief that he and Oswald were bound by Fate was all the more solidified. He was happy... which meant that he was overdue for disaster. Everything he touched was doomed to shatter into a million pieces. An endless cycle that he wasn't sure he could ever truly break.

 

Jonathon mumbled something vaguely threatening in his sleep, causing the other two men to chuckle.

 

“I always forget that he's still a kid,” Ed said, noting how the younger man's expression reminded him of Martin when he would fall asleep in an uncomfortable position in the library.

 

“True. He is still young,” Jervis admitted

 

Ed scrunched his face in mild dissatisfaction, “...How old are you exactly?”

 

“Does it matter?” he sipped at his tea

 

“No,” Ed swallowed, not entirely happy with his friend's response.

 

“You're sweet,” Hatter smiled, setting the cup aside, “I'm glad you are so protective of him.”

 

“We're allies. It's just business.”

 

“If it were purely business, our difference in age would not matter to you.”

 

The Riddler rolled his eyes and conceded the point. He wasn't known to form attachments so readily, but bonding with the two madmen had come easy to him. Jervis was a reservoir of well-intended advice that Ed found useful. Especially during times such as these when he was at odds with himself and had no one else he could really talk to. Jonathon, because of his age, had become like a younger brother to him.

 

“Our friend Valeska is not much older than him either,” Hatter noted.

 

“If he suddenly decides to stop being a vegetable, you aren't going to run after him, are you?” Ed asked, more than a little worried.

 

“Jerome was a beacon in the darkness. Chaos and delicious anarchy. At that time, he provided the catharsis we so desperately needed in our lives. We wanted Gotham to suffer for our losses. And, if Jerome were still alive, we would likely ally ourselves with him once more... but Jeremiah is cold. Calculated. An alliance with him would not bode well for us. Or anyone.”

 

“But you _did_ ally with him once.”

 

“I did. And I _quite_ enjoyed it!” he explained with a delighted bounce of his shoulders, “Jerome craved an audience. The more the merrier! He was quite the showman and we were eager to provide him a stage. Jeremiah, well... he required a _different_ audience. We weren't ever certain whose attention he was craving, but it was a destructive cycle that would crush anyone and everyone that wasn't the object of that attention. It would be unwise to work with him as more than just a little bit of fun.”

 

“Makes sense, I guess.”

 

“You are a lot like the Valeskas in that regard. Both halves of you.” Jervis smiled, making the sign for _united,_ “I think he sees that in you as well. It's why he tolerates you blathering on at him during our group therapy sessions.”

 

“Not sure how I feel being compared to those maniacs,” Ed grimaced, “He's not cognizant enough to even _comprehend_ what I'm saying to him, so I doubt he cares.”

 

“Who knows? Perhaps he has us all fooled,” Jervis said with a slight smirk

 

The jingle contraption clanged once again. Jonathon lifted his head and looked around the room. With a roll of his eye, he attached his glove. Edward removed the kitchen knife out from under the table. Jervis just let out a cheerful hum and then straightened his paper tophat.

 

They each venture upstairs towards where the trap was set. If it was another patient that had wandered away from the safety of their cell, then that meant the Scarecrow had another plaything to use for his experiments. If it was an orderly or a similarly unsavory fellow, then the Hatter would see that they forgot the encounter and leave the direction they came. The Riddler's friends would rather they just dispatch the guard, but Ed had insisted they keep their body count to a minimum in order to mitigate any suspicion. Though the idea of throwing the knife down the hall and embedding it in the head of the unfortunate interloper was an appealing thought.

 

He peeked around and saw the guard walking down the hallway. He sighed and then, with all of the flamboyance he could muster, strutted around the corner. He whistled to get the man's attention. The guard immediately stopped dead in his tracks and the Riddler revelled in the fact that he could still inspire fear. Just as the Hatter approached his flank, the guard threw up his hands in surrender.

 

“W-w-wait! I'm not here to bust you!” he fumbled with his pockets, making sure to keep his eyes tightly shut around the hypnotist. He pulled something from the pocket of his vest and handed it out towards the Riddler, “Here! It's a letter from Penguin.”

 

“You aren't usually the one who delivers the mail,” he said, snatching the letter from his trembling hands.

 

“He said to bring it to you directly.”

 

The Riddler stopped for a moment and risked a worried glance up at the guard. If Oswald was sending a letter through one of his henchmen within Arkham, then that meant something was wrong.

 

Ed read the first line and found himself unable to breathe. He swallowed and tried to steady his breathing. Luckily the man was too frightened to really take notice of the tightness in the Riddler's throat, “You may leave.”

 

The guard immediately turned and ran back up the stairs towards the common area. The moment he's out of earshot, Ed gasped. He slammed his back against the wall and gulped down air until his stomach churned. His two compatriots glanced at one another before nodding in agreement.

 

“Your apprehension is foreboding,” the Scarecrow drawled

 

“We know not of your dilemma so might we inquire what is on the agenda?”

 

“Martin... He's...” he clenched his eyes shut, “I need to leave. Cover for me?”

 

“It is already done, my treasured March Hare!” he clapped, his eagerness to cause havoc evident, “Gone with you! There is no time to spare. For the Riddler is about to disappear in thin air!”

 

* * *

 

The vultures had already swarmed the Van Dahl mansion by the time the sun rose. The lawn was alive with onlookers, cameras, and reporters as the GCPD inspected the crime scene. Commissioner Gordon barely had the time to drink his coffee as he stood outside in the cold. The freezing rain was making his job that much harder.

 

“Any news on the kid?” Captain Bullock asked, trying to warm his hands with his own cup of joe.

 

“Not yet.”

 

“What a mess,” Harvey shivered, “This is the _last_ thing we need right now. I knew this kid was gonna be a pain in my ass.”

 

“ _Harvey...”_

 

“Look, all I'm saying is that things would be a hell of a lot simpler if we had just called DHS and had the kid sent off to a nice little boarding school out on the country somewhere.”

 

“Somehow I don't think that would make a difference,” Jim sighed, “Besides, this isn't Martin's fault.”

 

“You sure about that?” Harvey leaned in close, “You said he was dippin' his toes into some pretty risky territory.”

 

“He's a kid, Harv.”

 

“Yeah, and kids need to be protected.”

 

“He's got protection.” Jim could feel the migraine coming on.

 

“ _Had_ protection. In case you didn't notice Jim, _his bodyguards are dead._ Including Victor fuckin' Zsasz!”

 

“Look, we know Oswald. He always has a contingency plan. Especially if Ed's involved.”

 

“I sure hope you're right.” Harvey furrowed his brow, “Because if we find a dead kid bobbin' in the river, that'll be on you.”

 

“I know.” Jim felt his stomach lurch.

 

A line of reporters lifted the perimeter and attempted to sneak closer to the mansion entrance. Jim handed his coffee cup over to the Captain, causing the liquid to slosh around on their hands.

 

“That's it. Hey!” he called, “Get the hell off my crime scene.”

 

“Commissioner Gordon... some bad news," another officer approached.

 

“What now, Alvarez?” Jim growled.

 

“Nygma just escaped Arkham.”

 

“You're kidding me?” Jim threw his head back and groaned. As if his day wasn't already terrible.

 

“He apparently rigged the sprinkler system with some kind of gas. Then he just waltzed out the front door.”

 

“Dammit... he must have found out about Martin,” he grit his teeth, “Contact Blackgate and make sure they put extra security on Penguin. Harv, you take care of everything here and put a BOLO out on Nygma. This will probably be the first place he shows up.”

 

“Will do. Stay safe over at Arkham, buddy. I've heard some pretty spooky rumors about the Hatter and Scarecrow.”

 

 

After chasing off the rest of the reporters, Harvey made his way inside to continue his assessment of the damage. There was still a substantial amount of blood on the stone staircase leading up to the front door. The body of Yuri Dimitrov and all of its pieces were covered up with white sheets. Blood soaked through the fabric which left little to the imagination. The guy was a real bastard, so Harvey had a difficult time feeling much sympathy for the Russian mobster.

 

The foyer was even more of a bloodbath. Three bodies were in close proximity and riddled with bullets. Zsasz had always been Falcone's best assassin and this was certainly a testament to that. Even outnumbered, Zsasz still managed to take them out. Lucius Fox was writing some notes down on his notepad as he made his way over to the Police Captain.

 

“What do we have Lucius?”

 

“Six victims in total. Possible time of death for each was around 21:30 hours. Martin's tutor, Samuel Lark, arrived at eight this morning for his lessons and called it in,” Lucius gestured to the carnage he was standing, “Our pal Dimitrov looks like he was caught off guard. His head was cleanly removed and found in the driveway. Based on the footprints here, Zsasz and who we suspect was Martin Van Dahl made their way into the mansion where they were met by these three.”

 

“Any chance they have weird symbols carved in the backs of their teeth?”

 

“I checked. None of them have the symbol that you and Jim described.”

 

“Huh... so these guys aren't with the... uh... well, _you know,”_ he looked around to see if any of the other forensic techs or officers looked suspicious, “Have we found anything out of the ordinary?”

 

“Yes, actually.” Lucius walked him over towards one of the doorways, “Judging by the signs of struggle, there should be another body here... But all that's left of them is blood and this strange residue,” he held up an evidence vial containing a swab of some yellow-brown substance.

 

“Residue?” Harvey took the vial and gave it a closer look.

 

“Yes. As far as I can tell, there isn't any other trace of it throughout the crime scene. It looks like there was some kind of aerosol spray and it splattered all over the door frame leading into the dining area.”

 

“Do we know what it is?” he inquired.

 

“I have a few theories. Once I've gotten this to the lab, analysis should only take a few hours.”

 

“Good,” Harvey stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Victor's mangled body, “And what about our buddy Zsasz?”

 

“I haven't made it that far. This crime scene is... extensive.”

 

“A clusterfuck, you mean,” he shook his head, “I knew the kid was lying to my face and I let him get away with it. What a mess... You finish up here. I'm gonna check in with Alvarez and Harper to see if they have any updates on Nygma or Martin.”

 

“Nygma?” Lucius' eyes widened, “He didn't.”

 

“He did. Can't say I blame him though with his kid missing. Just wish he'd let us do our jobs for once.”

 

Harvey left him to continue his work. Lucius knelt down beside the assassin and frowned. He didn't know the man personally, but Ed always spoke highly of him. There were several large wounds on his legs, including one that had severed his femoral artery. What seemed to do him in though were the carbon fiber throwing knives that had punctured his lungs.

 

The blood had seeped into the floorboards. Curiously, it pooled near the molding at the base of the wall. He ran a gloved finger around the indention and realized that there was a sizable gap.

 

“Interesting...” he said and he clicked on his flashlight, examining the wall. Once he had an idea for what he was looking for, it didn't take him long to find the panel- a small indentation near one of the sconces. It clicked and he could hear the wood and cogs buckle, but the wall didn't move, “What are you hiding?”

 

He tried to locate any hidden levers or buttons, but couldn't find any. Just as he was about to give up in his pursuit, he heard a loud _'clack'_ and felt a gust of air brush past him. Before he could react, someone had lunged forward and covered his mouth with their hands.

 

His eyes widened when he recognized Martin Van Dahl. The boy shook his head and took the notebook out of his hands. He slowly removed his hand and wrote, _You're dad's friend so I'll let you run away._

 

“You understand why I can't do that?” Lucius told him in a slightly scolding tone.

 

Something sickeningly sweet wafted through the air and he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. The woman was wearing a green dress covered in moss and vines. Her red hair fell in snake-like tendrils around her face. He recognized her instantly.

 

“What have you gotten yourself into, Martin?”

 

The Little Penguin frowned. He wrote another message onto the notepad, tore the page away, and handed it to Ivy.

 

_Don't hurt him._

 

“As you wish,” she rolled her eyes and then blew a fluorescent magenta powder in the man's face. He didn't have time to respond before his eyes closed and he collapsed onto the floor.

 

Ivy flinched when she heard the boy burst into tears. She looked beside her and saw that he had wrapped himself around a corpse on the floor. She recognized the man and placed a hand atop the boy's head as he sobbed.

 

She heard the sound of polaroid cameras and the shuffling of feet throughout the house. She took a deep breath and, on the exhale, a mist floated through the halls of the mansion. One by one the members of the GCPD collapsed where they stood. Fast asleep and out of their hair.

 

Martin was starting to hyperventilate. She rubbed soothing circles into his back, “Hush now. We can fix this.”

 

Martin whipped his head around, his eyes puffy and bloodshot. He gave her a quizzical look as she held out her hand to one of her plants. The petals unfurled and spat out the metal flask. She tugged at the boy's shoulder, but he held on tighter.

 

“Are you going to let me help you, or aren't you?”

 

He sniffled and then forced himself to step away from the body of his beloved uncle. He rubbed at his eyes but all he managed to do was smear blood all over his face.

 

Ivy pulled the knives from his body and dropped them onto the ground beside them. Then she opened the flask and poured some of the strange liquid over the assassin's gaping wounds. It hissed and bubbled which made Martin worry.

 

“Wakey wakey,” she cooed.

 

Martin clenched his fists. What was this weird lady even doing? If she didn't step away from Uncle Zsasz's body soon, he was going to-

 

Everything happened at once. Sharp intakes of hair followed a string of curse words, some of which Martin had never even heard before. Zsasz flung himself forward and doubled over from the phantom pain in his chest.

 

Martin threw his arms around him and squeezed. Once Zsasz recovered from the shock of it all, he patted Martin on the back and reciprocated the hug.

 

“Hey, kid. Miss me?”

 

Martin pulled away and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He started signing much too quickly for Zsasz to translate.

 

“Whoa whoa whoa... slow down," He ruffled his hair and then looked up at Ivy, “I remember you. You messed with my head.”

 

“I hope you won't hold it against me.”

 

“Do you _want_ me to hold it against you?” he gave her a playful smirk.

 

“Ew. Don't make me regret wasting the Lazarus Water on you,” she shook the flask in her hand.

 

"Is that what that stuff is?"

 

"Isn't it remarkable? What's it like being among the living again?” Ivy asked, slightly curious. She had only ever tested the Lazarus water on her plants, so seeing the effects it had on a human body was fascinating.

 

“I had the weirdest dream,” Zsasz said, his brow pinched tightly.

 

_Oh?_

 

“Yeah... there was this girl. She looked a lot like Penguin. Black hair. Old clothes.”

 

Martin's eyes widened.

 

“She told me that I was cursed and was a ghost. Crazy, right?”

 

Martin slowly nodded his head. That was certainly... strange.

 

“Martin?” a voice called out from the foyer.

 

Martin recognized it and, without even thinking, ran towards the source. His legs carried him all on their own as he jumped over the bodies of the sleeping GCPD officers. Nothing broke his stride as he darted down the hall and hurled himself into the Riddler's arms.

 

They both collapsed into a heap on the floor. Ed smiled and moved to get a better look at him. Martin watched as his calm and collected facade cracked. His eyes turned glossy and he started trembling. His dad's panic became all the more evident as he used the sleeve on his coat to wipe the excess blood from his son's face.

 

Martin grabbed his hands and held them in place. When his dad's breathing became less erratic, he slowly pulled his hands away so that he could sign.

 

_I'm okay, dad._

 

Ed's face broke into a smile as relief washed over him. He wiped the bloody strands of hair out of his son's face before kissing him on the forehead. They both held each other close.

 

“What's going on?” Ed looked around at the confusing scene that surrounded him.

 

“Heeeey, Boss.” Zsasz waved as he limped into the room. The Lazarus Water had been potent enough to resurrect him and start the process of healing his wounds, but he was still in need of a few stitches.

 

“Victor.” Ed's eyes widened, “Oswald... his letter! I-I thought you were dead!”

 

“I was,” he stated, rather plainly.

 

“Come again?”

 

“Didn't stick,” Zsasz shrugged and then made room for the red-head as she stepped into the room.

 

The Riddler gasped rose to his feet, pulling Martin behind him to shield him from the woman.

 

“Relax,” Ivy's voice was smooth and placating, “The kid was kind to my friends, so I've offered to help.”

 

Zsasz told him everything. How the children had decided to go exploring, what they found, and how Zsasz discovered that they were being followed. He told him about how he tried to protect Martin and had sent him down the tunnels to safety. Ivy piped in with her half of the story and how she found Martin wounded in her territory, and so forth.

 

Ed's brow furrowed as he tried to process the story. Part of it seemed unbelievable and downright remarkable. He turned to Martin, mouth agape, “Is all of that true?”

 

Martin nodded his head.

 

“You're so clever,” he said, resting a hand on his cheek, “How did I get so lucky?”

 

Suddenly, Martin looked despondent. His gaze fell to the blood-soaked floor as tears roll down the bridge of his nose.

 

“What's wrong?” Ed asked

 

 _I messed up,_ His sign was difficult to translate through trembling hands, _This is all my fault!_ _I just wanted to explore, but I put everyone in danger. I'm so stupid._

 

“Hey! No. Don't say that. _Never_ say that. You hear me?” Ed tried not to yell, “Oswald and I love you. We wouldn't trade you for anything... I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. I could have been, but I was a coward.”

 

Martin cocked his head. He didn't believe for one second that his dad was a coward. He was anything but.

 

“I was afraid... of messing this up,” he held Martin's shoulders, his voice quivered as he allowed himself to be truthful for the sake of his son, “And I was afraid of upsetting Oswald. I didn't want that to be the final straw that got me kicked out the door.”

 

 _Why would he do that?_ Martin was suddenly very worried.

 

“I've hurt him. Too many times to keep track of,” Ed tried to explain, “We've told you about a few things but never went into any detail... he would be well within his right to have me dumped in the river if something ever happened to you and I wouldn't stop him. Hurting you is the _last_ thing I want to do.”

 

 _But father loves you! He wouldn't do that._ When his dad didn't respond, Martin added, _You're a good dad._

 

The Riddler nodded his head to acknowledge his son had been heard, but he remained still. Likely at odds with the voices in his head.

 

“What's the plan, boss?” Zsasz interjected, “Someone's probably noticed that you aren't in Arkham and whatever Ivy did to these guys is gonna wear off eventually.”

 

“Right. I can't stay,” he continued to hold Martin by the shoulders, “They know that the mansion is the first place I'd come. I have to go into hiding for a little while, alright? I'm not abandoning you.”

 

_For how long?_

 

“A few weeks, maybe,” he explained. He needed a plan. He needed to conspire with Oswald and their allies to reestablish the groundwork that would protect Martin and their assets. He couldn't do that from the confines of his cell at Arkham, even with the freedom he had, “Stay strong for me, kiddo.”

 

_I will._

 

He made sure he had Martin's undivided attention, “Martin, I need you to understand the value of your promises. Okay? This is important. I _need_ you to promise me that you won't go into the tunnels until we've given you the all clear. Understood?”

 

_Understood. I promise._

 

“Shake on it?” Ed held out his hand. Martin didn't hesitate to take it and gave it a firm shake. He threw his arms around his dad once more and squeezed as tightly as he could.

 

There were still so many lessons he had to learn. He just hoped they weren't all going to be as messy a process as this one.

 

-

 

Bridget was growing bored with these assignments. Though, she couldn't complain about the pay. Mayor Hady and that creep Alexander Luthor paid her a lofty sum to clear out the apartment complexes just outside of the Narrows. However, her partner made it difficult to get in and burn the place in a timely manner.

 

“You done shopping, old man?”

 

He stumbled out of the kitchen, bottle in hand. His combat boots were caked in mud and soot filled in the cracks of his skin. He looked down at the bodies of the family he'd just killed- a drunk, his wife, and their teenage son.

 

He lit a cigarette and knelt down beside the body of the boy. His hair was brown and in need of a comb. His arms were covered in scars and layers of bruising. He reminded him a lot of Edward.

 

“Do you think he hated his old man?” he asked

 

Firefly looked down at the bodies and cocked her head like a flighty bird, “I don't care.”

 

“Yeah, me neither.” he stepped over the corpse and made room for Firefly to do her work. However, something moved out of the corner of his eye. He aimed the Desert Eagle at the open window just in time to catch a glimpse of what looked like a young woman with curly hair.

 

“Rich?” Firefly asked, “Are we done here?”

 

“Thought I saw someone.”

 

“No worries. They'll be barbecue just like the rest of them.”

 

“Yeah... Might need to tell the boss tough,” he holstered his gun and then made his way out the door. He heard the distinctive hiss of gas escaping a release valve as Firefly torched the small complex behind him.

 

* * *

 

The Gotham City Police Department was a zoo. Captain Bullock was already most of the way through his flask by the end of the day. He wasn't sure if his headache was because of the cheap, Irish whiskey or whatever witchcraft that bitch dosed him with.

 

When he had come to, the crime scene had been picked clean. Ivy Pepper had been there and put the entire investigation team to sleep while she went to town clearing out the blood and bodies to use for whatever sick experiments she had growing under Robinson Park. The rookies on the team all scoffed at the notion. They claimed that the Witch in Robinson Park- _Poison Ivy_ \- was nothing more than an urban legend leftover from No Man's Land. But Harvey knew better.

 

The door to his office opened. He rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes as Commissioner Gordon and Lucius Fox greeted him.

 

“Hey, Jim,” he sighed, “Any word on Nygma?”

 

“No one's seen him. He was pretty thorough about covering his tracks,” he sighed, placing his hands on his hips, “Any developments on your end?”

 

“Martin Van Dahl was apparently out playing with his friends when the shootout took place. We brought him in for questioning, but he didn't seem to know anything. Poor kid burst into tears when we gave him the news about Zsasz.”

 

“We should make sure to follow-up on that. The kid has a knack for knowing more than he lets on,” Jim turned to the forensic scientist, “What do you have for us, Lucius?”

 

“Gentlemen, these are the results on that chemical analysis from the residue we found at the crime scene,” he handed the documents over to Harvey, “It's Fear Toxin.”

 

“Fear Toxin?” Jim's mouth dropped. This case kept getting weirder.

 

“The same formula used by Jonathon Crane. AKA the Scarecrow.”

 

“How is that possible? Unless...” Harvey's eyes widened, “Jim, you don't think he's somehow managed to make some of it while in Arkham, do you?”

 

“He's done it before. It's possible he's using one of the abandoned areas in the wing they're renovating.”

 

“Dammit,” Harvey threw open the glass doors to his office, “Hey, Alvarez! Take you and a couple others over to Arkham straight away. I'll send someone after you with a warrant.”

 

“What should we be looking for?”

 

“Anything outta the ordinary. I need you to search the place top to bottom. No stone unturned. Got it?”

 

Harvey grabbed his coat and headed out to the courthouse. Jim tried to rub the tension away from his forehead. He stopped and looked beside him at the forensic scientist. He seemed tense.

 

“You alright, Lucius?”

 

“Yeah. Just...” he stopped for a moment. His eyes darted back and forth like he was calculating something, “My head hurts.”

 

“Ivy got you too, huh? Did you see her?”

 

“Yes, I was looking over Victor Zsasz's body when she snuck up on me.”

 

“Did you happen to notice anything else? Any accomplices?”

 

“Nope. I didn't see anyone else.”

 

“Strange. It's not like Ivy to just suddenly make an appearance,” Jim chewed on the inside of his cheek. Something wasn't adding up, “I'm gonna go help Harvey over at Arkham. You get some rest, alright?”

 

“Will do, Commissioner.”

 

Lucius watched as Jim left the precinct. His shoulders sagged. Lying to his friends wasn't something he was proud of doing, but the alternative would just put Martin in more danger later on. He just hoped that Nygma knew what he was doing.

 

* * *

 

Ivy marveled at how the plants thrived inside the Van Dahl greenhouse. It was the one few places in the musty old mansion that Pengy had allowed to make her own. He even supplied her with an assortment of plants in order to keep her occupied while he did all of his mobster work. Ivy had wanted to be more involved- to feel more like a member of the family- but he kept her at an annoying distance.

 

“You even maintained the oleander I planted outside,” she smiled and watched as the vines wrapped around what remained of Yuri Dimitrov.

 

_Father told me to take care of the plants._

 

“Pengy did?” she stared at the letters written on the pad and scrunched her nose. It didn't seem likely.

 

_He said they were special._

 

“Huh,” Ivy crossed her arms and made an amused look.

 

She looked out of the window and out towards the line of trees outside. She had felt cramped inside her underground hideout and had been needing a change of scenery. A strong looking pitcher plant was soaking in the sun ner the window. She listened to the plant recall how Martin had seen how it wilting and had moved it to a brighter location.

 

“You told me that you were scared,” she smiled, holding the terracotta pot in her hands.

 

Martin swallowed and nodded his head. The fact that the people around him weren't impenetrable was louder more than ever.

 

“I make no promises but I'll do what I can, Little One.” she trailed her finger across his jaw and tipped his chin up, “Just don't go wandering out into the woods.”

 

* * *

 

A week had already come and gone and the Van Dahl manor had mostly returned to normal. Jim Gordon had been by several times to try and pry more information out of Martin, to no avail. If there was anything the Littlest Penguin had gotten good at over the years, it was lying.

 

Olga, despite the loss of her nephew, had actually perked up some over the last couple of days. A fresh shipment of ice cream came in and she made sure to serve it with Martin's breakfast. His eyes sparkled and that was all she needed to get through the rest of her day. She hummed along while she cleaned up and sent Martin upstairs to change and prepare for the day ahead of him.

 

Once dressed, Martin made his way to his dad's old desk and opened his textbook. He had a knack for mathematics and his lessons had progressed to much more complicated formulas.

 

Martin had lost track of time. He set his pencil aside and stretched before glancing up at the clock.

 

It was eight o'clock... and Mister Lark was not there.

 

 _Odd,_ he thought. Mister Lark was always on time.

 

Eight-thirty swiftly became nine o'clock. Martin had started pacing and chewing at his nails.

 

There was a knock at the door. Without waiting for Olga, he ran to the foyer and opened the door.

 

“So sorry I'm late! I had to drive all the way from Gotham Academy.” A young woman adjusted the calculus books in her grasp. She seemed rather nerdy and disheveled. She adjusted her glasses, “You must be Martin Van Dahl. I'm here for your lessons.”

 

Martin bit his lip and looked around. Uncle Zsasz's security guards were still walking the grounds, but no one else was around.

 

_Where is Mister Lark?_

 

“Professor Lark is ill, I'm afraid. He called me and asked if I could come and give you your lesson instead,” her smile was warm as her hair was red. However, something about her made Martin question her presence. Maybe he was just paranoid. That must be it. Professor Lark did say he wasn't feeling well the day prior. Perhaps he really did call on a colleague to fill his place. Yes, that must be it. Martin smiled back.

 

“Professor Lark tells me that you are a bright young man. Do you like riddles?”

 

Martin nodded his head with a smile. He and his dad bonded over wordplay quite often. He had never been good at riddles before but, spending time with the man in green had given him loads of practice solving them.

 

She cleared her throat, “The person who built me made a profit. The person who bought me never used me. The person who used me never saw me. What am I?”

 

Martin frowned at the creepy riddle.

 

He uncapped his pen and wrote the answer on his notepad.

 

_A coffin._

 

“Yes! How delightful.” She squealed and then held out her hand, “My name is Kristen. Kristen Kringle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I've also added more to the [TDOMJVD Playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Q5WYm6EW45zY17Mxadrga?si=V2AAWr7tQfmaazEf9Sw1aw) It slaps.


	13. Isabella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know that is not how science works. But comic books and Hugo Strange levels of mad scientist wizardry ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> We were discussing Isabella's last name in the Discord and, based on the screenshots from her medicine cabinet, we figured it was either “Flint” or “Flynn.” I went with Flynn because it means “descended from the red-headed one.” and I gave her the middle name “Dolores” since it means “Sorrow.”

Do clones share a soul? Are they separate beings or are their minds and spirits like nesting dolls? Isabella found herself asking those questions a lot lately. Especially now that she was at the end of her life and staring down the headlight of a speeding train.

 

When she woke up in that white room at Indian Hill, she had no memories. No recollection of the woman she was before. She was a newborn but not infantile. A homunculus of sorts. Perfectly formed from the moment of her birth.

 

She didn't have very many outlets for creativity or entertainment, but Ms. Peabody did allow her to have some books. She enjoyed a fair bit of lighthearted and romantic fiction but stories of blood and betrayal interested her most. Erotic and gruesome tales of tragic love. Death and misfortune.

 

She found that she had this insatiable _need_ to get her hands dirty. Like she wanted to toy around in blackened clay and mold it into whatever form she wished it to be. She explained this desire to the Professor one evening and all he did was reply with a sadistic smile and a fatherly pat on her head.

 

“She's perfect. A little too perfect,” Kathryn, a woman that she had been introduced to shortly after she was born, tilted her head and made a dissatisfied face. She turned to Ms. Peabody, “Change her hair color. We don't want Mr. Nygma going into shock because she looks too much like her.”

 

“Too much like whom?” The newborn asked. Her voice squeaked, likely from underuse.

 

“The woman we cloned you from,” the stern-looking blonde explained.

 

“Clone?” she asked, puzzled. She'd read about clones in her stories and was curious to know about the woman she was in another life. Was she still alive? If not, how did she die? Was it beautiful? Tragic? Violent or Peaceful?

 

One evening before her nightly hibernation, she gathered the courage to ask the Professor these questions. Eager to talk about his work, he obliged her request and allowed her a few additional hours of wakefulness so he could give her a proper tour of the facility outside her room.

 

Her favorite room was filled with beautifully reflective jars. Brains, hearts, and other intimate organs delicately suspended in viscous fluid. All of them were lined in neat little rows and carefully labeled with names and dates. A perfectly archived library of tormented lives. She found herself wondering if they could see her from inside their glass cages. How many of them were screaming?

 

The next room housed pods of half-formed bodies. Failed experiments and in-progress clones. The Professor explained that she was once one of those empty husks floating around in artificial amniotic fluid.

 

“It was a shame that Ms. Kringle's brain had decomposed so thoroughly, but we were able to salvage enough brain matter to reconstruct it,” he watched her place a reverential hand on an empty pod.

 

“Reconstruct?” she repeated.

 

“Yes,” he smiled, “A crowning achievement, really. You were our first successful experiment.”

 

“I have her brain inside me?” she suddenly had the urge to pry her skull open.

 

“In a matter of speaking,” he explained, “Our goal was to implant the brain of the deceased host and see if their personage remained intact.”

 

“Does that mean I have her memories?”

 

“You have retained her basic facilities- speech, reading comprehension, fine and gross motor skills. But, I am afraid that anything beyond that is unlikely,” he frowned, “Ms. Kringle's body was... well, let's just say that it was not in _prime conditions_ when she was brought here to Indian Hill.”

 

She turned and looked at her reflection in the glass and wondered if deep down inside her subconscious Ms. Kringle could see her. Was she aware and forced to be a spectator or was it more likely that she was in some kind of suspended vegetative state?

 

After several weeks of not knowing, Kathryn gifted her with the knowledge of her purpose. It was easy enough to accept her role since she knew of nothing else outside her books and the harsh white walls of Indian Hill.

 

“We will need to give you a name,” Kathryn said.

 

“A name?”

 

“Yes. And an identity. You will have to memorize it as well as be able to lie through the details. Mr. Nygma is known for his mental prowess. He will likely sniff out any inconsistencies,” Kathryn looked down at the copy of _Northanger Abbey_ that was in the woman's lap. She picked it up and considered it for a moment, “Isabella.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“That will be your name. You are a bit of a viper in the bosom of our enemy, as it were. It seems fitting.”

 

She is not given much information outside of a brief description of the man she is meant to seduce. The longer the days stretched on, the more she found herself worrying about what kind of man Edward Nygma was.

 

She didn't know all of the details that led up to the death of Kristen Kringle. The Professor had been exceedingly clinical in his retelling of it- Down to the tools used to cut her to pieces so she could more easily be stuffed into a suitcase and placed in her shallow grave. She didn't mind knowing those things, but she was far more interested in _why_ he did it.

 

What were his motivations? Was he needlessly cruel? Was he ugly? Was he anything like Heathcliff or did he more closely resemble Baron Vladimir Harkonnen? The breadth of possibilities made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

 

The day finally came where she was permitted to leave the strict confines of Indian Hill. She was given a small modest townhouse tucked away in a corner near the Main Public Library. The interior was homey and pleasant. Full of knick-knacks and things she could fidget with in idle hours. It certainly didn't lack personality.

 

She was given a file with various false identifications. On record, her full name was _Isabella Dolores Flynn_. She smiled as her fingers traced the letters on the birth certificate. It was charmingly poetic in its subtle meaning. Her task was to live a normal life as a Gothamite until she was given more specific orders. Money wasn't a concern of hers, but Kathryn had helped her obtain a job at the Main Public Library so that she could more easily plant her feet.

 

Falling into the simple routine of cataloging and archiving the sprawling expanse of literature was easy. She even wondered if it was a residual skill leftover by Kristen Kringle and it made her feel oddly connected to the deceased woman. However, she much preferred a more lateral system of organization.

 

She found that she didn't much care for the affairs of others. Some of the other librarians attempted to connect with her but she found them drab and frustratingly boring. None of them held a candle to the strong, vibrant men and women in her books. Similarly, she attempted to read the paper and even watch the news, but nothing held her interest for long. She much preferred long nights in her quaint little apartment with a cup of coffee or Bergamot tea and her own thoughts.

 

It happened while she was applying her makeup one morning.

 

A steady trickle of blood quickly turned into a pool down her blouse and the floor. Her head spun and she couldn't breathe. Kathryn had given her a cellphone in case of emergencies. There was only one number.

 

“H-Hello?” Isabella spoke through the pain when she heard a click on the other end of the line, “I... I need to speak with Kathryn.”

 

“Yes?” Kathryn sounded annoyed, “What do you want?”

 

“Something... S-Something is wrong,” she stammered, “My head feels like it's being split open and my nose won't stop bleeding.”

 

There was an unbearable silence following that.

 

“Kathryn? Please... I need help.”

 

“Someone will be with you shortly,” her voice was cold, “Try not to die before then.”

 

Isabella wasn't certain when the doctor had arrived. The last thing she remembered was dropping the phone and burying her face into a pillow on the couch. She was startled awake by a sharp pinprick on her neck.

 

“Hold still, “the doctor spoke, “This will stop the hemorrhaging.”

 

After a few agonizing moments, her nose ceased being a faucet but the lightheadedness remained. The doctor provided no explanation and instead handed her several orange bottles of pills. He briefly explained what each one did- Neomycin to reduce ammonia production, Carbatrol for seizures, some Iron supplements, and several others. He was out the door before she even had the wherewithal to open her mouth.

 

Kathryn wouldn't return her calls. She felt alone and abandoned and scared. Like a once-beloved toy that was thrown away when it became defective.

 

Mercy came in the form of Professor Hugo Strange several days later.

 

“I'm dying?” she blinked away tears.

 

“My apologies,” he was seated across from her in her floral decorated living room, “You see, I was not entirely certain when this would become relevant. We have not quite perfected a way to combat rapid cell-decomposition and the speed at which it occurs has been different for each subject.”

 

“What's going to happen to me?”

 

“Your organs will slowly deteriorate,” he explained, “I am afraid that all I can do for you is offer what meager medical treatment I can in order to make the process less painful. But you will die.”

 

“How long do I have?”

 

“Not long.”

 

“Well,” she sniffled and wiped tears from her eyes with the corner of a handkerchief, “That is certainly a shame.”

 

“It is,” he opened a suitcase he'd brought with him and pulled out a manila file, “I have been told to give this to you.”

 

She opened the file and felt a thrum in her chest. It was a photograph. The man was tall with glasses. There was a cruel look to his eye as he glared at someone just out of shot. His hair was slicked back and sculpted. Clean and sharp just like the crisp edges of his suit.

 

“Is this Mr. Nygma?”

 

“Yes,” he stood, “And since it would be such a waste for you to expire before you served your purpose, you are to intercept him this evening.”

 

“T-Tonight?” she felt another headache coming on but pushed it away as best she could.

 

“We have been informed that he is supposed to have dinner with Mayor Cobblepot this evening and will be running an errand,” he told her, “Luckily, Mr. Nygma is a man of strict routine and frequents the same wine shop. It is not far from here.”

 

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

 

“What you were trained to do, my dear.”

 

Isabella went over the checklist again in her mind. Having already mapped out the most efficient sequence of events, she offered to stay late at the library that evening to help re-shelve some returns. On her way out, she made sure to take a few with her. _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ , selected works by Edgar Allen Poe, and _The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire_ were among her favorites and she was certain they would get Mr. Nygma's attention. Or, at the very least, help spark some conversation and keep the attention on her.

 

There was a small studio apartment that doubled as temporary housing for the head librarian. Fortunately for Isabella, it was unoccupied which meant that she could utilize the small bathroom and mirror to freshen up. She certainly looked her best in spite of her anemia and slowly dissolving innards- nothing a fair bit of concealer and rouge couldn't fix- but she knew that the devil was in the details.

 

She looked at herself in the mirror and chuckled at her unintentional snafu. She had apparently dressed herself up for her own funeral- black dress, stockings, and shoes. She even added a fresh coat of black nail polish and her favorite pair of garnet earrings that were so dark they were practically black. There was no time to run back home and add a splash of color so she resigned herself to simply lean into the dark mystery she was going to be presenting herself as.

 

She was instructed not to be in the wine shop when he arrived to mitigate suspicions. If it was too obvious that she had been planted in his path then the whole six months of her meager existence would have been for nothing. She watched him through the window for a moment while he browsed the selections and, after a suitable time, made her way into the store.

 

She observed him from around the corner as he tried to pick out a bottle. He hovered between a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon- one that he was very quick to obtain upon entering the store and so he must have been familiar with it- and a rather expensive bottle of Aszú-Esszencia.

 

“Impossible to pick the perfect bottle, isn't it?” Isabella finally spoke. She could barely contain her nervousness.

 

“Well, it all depends on region and vintage,” his voice was much kinder than her previous anxieties had led her to believe, “Of course, you have to consider the wine pairing,” he turned to face her.

 

She had been told to anticipate some sort of reaction given that she was wearing the face of his previous love. He first looked confused... then timid. Even a little bit scared. There was a slight tremor to his hand and she was grateful he had been holding the Sauvignon and not the expensive one from Hungary. It would have been disastrous if he had dropped it.

 

When he didn't speak, she batted her eyelashes at him.

 

“Miss Kringle?” he finally whispered.

 

“No... um, no. My name's Isabella,” she corrected him. There was a fluttering in her chest that she could barely suppress, “Um... I'm sorry to bother you. I don't usually talk to people,” she managed to not trip over her words but her shyness was evident, “There's just something about you,” she turned to leave, hoping he would stop her. He did.

 

“No. No, please. There's... no need to apologize,” he paused, examining her face, “You just... You remind me of someone that I used to know,” he almost smiled and she knew that it was going to be the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. He fell back into a frown, “...A long time ago.”

 

Mr. Nygma turned his attention back to the wine. He took a deep breath and exhaled, clearly trying to distance himself from her. She wondered what would happen if she were to pay for her wine and leave. Would his curiosity get the better of him? If they happened to bump into one another at the library or City Hall, would he become suspicious and know she was following him? Instead, she had a better idea.

 

“You struggle to regain me. When I am lost, do you struggle to obtain me? What am I?”

 

“Time,” he smiled.

 

And she was in love.

 

Her story poured from her mouth like an avalanche. It hadn't been what she had prepared with Kathryn. Instead, she followed her instincts based on the patterns she found. She took advantage of every turn. If Edward had a paper published while he was in school, she had written poetry and submitted it for publication. If he had broken a bone, she had shattered her tibia and spent a large portion of her life in bed reading books. She delighted in being able to craft her own story. It was like writing her own novel with herself as the main heroine.

 

She had almost forgotten that the entire point of this encounter was for the sole purpose of leading him away from Mayor Cobblepot. Luckily for her, he was easily duped by her charms and was leaning in to kiss her.

 

“The morning paper?” Edward was startled away from their moment, “What time is it?” he looked at his watch and she saw how his face fell. She had successfully kept him away from dinner that evening. For an entire twelve hours, in fact. But she knew that it wouldn't be enough- not for the Court and certainly not for her own desires.

 

“When can we meet again?” she asked, clearing her throat.

 

“What can't you have for breakfast or lunch?”

 

“Dinner!” she answered the riddle and felt her cheeks warm when he smiled at her, “I'd love to.”

 

“Delightful,” he shined, “Meet me at the Mayor's mansion at eight.”

 

She nodded as he walked down the stone steps in front of her apartment but he quickly backpedaled. She lifted her gaze back up towards him as he boldly leaned forward and kissed her. It made her feel weightless and bubbly.

 

Kathryn called her for an update and Isabella couldn't contain her schoolgirl giggling as she recounted the events of the evening. Kathryn seemed pleased over the phone and instructed her to continue on the path she was on.

 

After breakfast and a quick change of clothes, she was out the door again and heading towards the library. She never needed much sleep anyways and she was far too excited about her date with Edward to bother. So, with a heart full of love and a mind filled with Edward's smile, she left.

 

No one warned her about Oswald Cobblepot.

 

She heard the bell ring and immediately felt her heart climb into her throat at the sight of the deadly, little man walking towards her. She nervously smoothed the invisible wrinkles down her powder blue dress before greeting him.

 

“Mister Mayor, what an honor,” she forced a smile, “How can I help you?”

 

“I am attending the Founders Dinner this evening and I wanted to brush up on the history of Gotham's first families,” he explained, “My chief of staff suggested I come here,” his expression evolved into something sharper and more sinister, “I think you might know him.”

 

“Yes. I know Edward,” she planted her feet, “We just met, but... well, I feel I've known him my whole life.”

 

“How romantic,” his words cut through the air like a knife.

 

“Oh, listen to me, blathering on. You wanted a book,” she turned toward a cart of books that had already been pulled off of the shelves in preparation for the Founders Dinner. Gotham's sordid history was a popular subject among students.

 

“Oh...” the Mayor scoffed, “I'm... so glad you _appreciate_ Ed.”

 

She turned, confused, and then realized what he was gesturing towards. Earlier that morning she had cut out and colored a paper chain of her and Edward to pass the time. Looking at it now, she knew how childish it must have seemed. Embarrassed and frightful, he clamored over to her desk and hid it from view.

 

“Really, I should thank you for brightening Ed's spirits,” Mayor Cobblepot told her, “He has been so down since he got out of Arkham.”

 

Isabella felt something bubble to the surface. At first, she thought it was more fear but she steadily realized that it was laughter. If she had been any other witless fool, she might have fallen for his act. Which, admittedly, he _was_ a good actor. Down to the melancholic tone of his voice and worried clench in his jaw.

 

“Edward... was in Arkham?” she walked forward, intent on playing her own part in this little charade.

 

“You don't know?” he asked, “It _was_ front-page news.”

 

“I stick to books,” she told him, “Don't people typically go to Arkham for murder?”

 

He adjusted his posture, leaning into his manipulation further, “I make it a policy not to gossip about staff, but...” he looked her in the eye before wetly mouthing the word “ _Yes.”_

 

She sighed. His trap had been set- or so he thought. She made her way over to the stack of books on Gotham's history and pulled out the oldest one that dated all the way back to the era of Mayor Theodore Van Dahl.

 

“Uncanny how much you look like her,” he leaned in, scrutinizing her features, “It's that swan-like neck.”

 

She wrapped her hand around her throat and couldn't help but imagine Edward's strong hands wrapped around them.

 

“Ed loves a neck!” the Mayor blurted out as if he was in on some joke.

 

The poor fool didn't know that _he_ was the bigger joke. He had tried to scare her but that only fueled her desire to claim Edward for her own. Wedging herself between them was going to be easy and the thought of having that much power and influence over the two most powerful men in Gotham was intoxicating.

 

She might have been a little too eager to spend time with Edward and arrived early for their dinner. Though, Edward didn't seem to mind. He greeted her with the brightest of smiles and led her through the lavish mansion into the dining room.

 

They shared a nice bottle of Rosé along with some fruits and cheeses he had laid out on the table as an appetizer before dinner. She marveled at the encyclopedia of his brain and how he would ramble off some chemical formula about the acidic levels contained inside strawberries and why certain cheeses were sweeter than others.

 

Dinner was exquisite. She had never eaten Coq Au Vin before and she found that it tasted even more authentic with Edward sweetly speaking French to her as they ate. The night carried on and they settled into such a peaceful and warm place between them. Isabella felt like she had found her missing half. She never realized how hollow and incomplete she felt until then. Imagining a life- however fleeting- without Edward made her eyes water.

 

She stared at the clock. If her estimation was correct, Mayor Cobblepot would likely be arriving home from the Founders Dinner soon.

 

“Edward,” she smiled, taking the glass of wine from his hand, “Do you trust me?”

 

“Excuse me?” he narrowed his brow and studied her. The question apparently set him on edge.

 

“I need you to be honest with me.”

 

“What do you mean?” he nervously cleared his throat.

 

“Is there something you would like to tell me?”

 

“How... How did you know?” he asked, his eyes darted around her face, “Oswald and I had a talk before he left for the Founders Dinner, but... I thought...” he stammered, “This date is going so well. I don't... want to ruin it.”

 

“Edward,” she smiled again, “Nothing you have to tell me will ruin our evening. I promise.”

 

He held his breath. Then, after a tense moment where it seemed like he might have been battling some demon in his own mind, he exhaled. She could see the tremor in his limbs and sense the hesitancy in his voice. It was painful to watch such a strong person rattle around in his own skin. She wanted to comfort him. To run her fingers through his hair and tell him that it was all going to be okay, but she knew that he needed it all off of his chest. So she would be patient.

 

She already knew a fair bit about the life and death of Kristen Kringle. The Professor had answered every one of her questions but she had never been able to surmise the why. As the words spilled from his mouth and his gestures became more erratic, all of those pieces finally clicked into place. This poor, bleeding heart had only been trying to protect Ms. Kringle and the tragedy of their love story was what led him down such a dark road. His pain kept him shackled to the void and Isabella vowed to be the one to lift him up from perdition.

 

He left out the more incriminating details about how he'd saved and nurtured the selfish Penguin, but she already knew about all of that. She knew about their alliance and his role in the criminal underworld of Gotham. Of course, neither man was fully aware of just how _tiny_ they were in the grand scheme of things in Gotham. Though they still posed some sort of threat or the Court of Owls wouldn't have bothered to send her into their midst to unravel their friendship.

 

“I've lived my whole life inside the pages of books,” Isabella confessed. Though, to Edward, it probably seemed a far more metaphorical one, “Any other men I've dated, they didn't compare to the lovers I spent my life with... Anthony and Cleopatra. Romeo and Juliet. Othello and Desdemona.”

 

“All of whom died.”

 

She pondered for a moment and fantasized about how he would react if she told him her secret. Oswald would have to be long dead by then, of course. If her true purpose was revealed too soon Edward might flee and the Penguin would sink his teeth into him once more. She wouldn't allow for that. So, again, she would have to temper her patience.

 

“You're not scared of me?” he asked.

 

“Of course I am!” she couldn't help but laugh. The thought of him murdering her in a crime of passion like he had his previous lover both terrified and excited her. He deserved to know how thoroughly he'd penetrated her heart in the brief while they'd known each other. She took his hand into her own and placed it over her chest, “Can you feel how fast my heart's beating?”

 

Without another word, he leaned in to kiss her. Her ticking clock and the melancholy it brought mingled with the intense heat and possessive longing she felt for the man. It made their kiss taste even sweeter.

 

“Well, Ed, you would not _believe_ the night-” Mayor Cobblepot limped through the foyer and into the dining room. He stopped, settling himself long enough to scoop his jaw from the floor, and stared at the lovers.

 

“Oswald, good evening,” Ed pulled away from their embrace to greet his friend who had chained him into darkness, “This is Isabella.”

 

“Oh...” the Mayor seemed to collapse in on himself under the weight of his defeat, “We have met.”

 

Isabella kept her hand on Edward's shoulder as she narrowed her gaze down at the smaller man. The victory made her bolder and she quietly dared him to resort to physical violence. Oh, the carnage that would ensue! The thought of Edward tearing his friend apart so brutally in revenge made her heart flutter in her chest.

 

“Would you excuse me?” the Mayor instead looked down at the checkered floor, “I am... very tired.”

 

She smiled darkly as he limped his way towards the stairs. Edward, now no longer distracted, returned to her embrace and kissed her once more.

 

Like a proper gentleman, he drove her back home and made sure that she made it safely back to her apartment. There was a package waiting for her when she arrived. She removed the brown paper and opened the small box. Inside were a pair of cat-eye glasses and a letter instructing her to wear them around Edward.

 

She kept them in her purse. She wasn't entirely certain why this particular task was so important. She already had Edward wrapped around her finger so what purpose did the glasses serve?

 

She didn't wear them until two days later when they were sitting at her dining room table. Kathryn's letter told her that she was to arrive at the Court of Owls headquarters to meet with the Ruling Council. After that point, they would decide the next steps in the destruction of Mayor Cobblepot. She lied and told her beloved that she was going to a librarian's conference. She offered to read him her itinerary and had placed the glasses on her face.

 

“Where did those glasses come from?”

 

“These?” she gestured to her face, “These are my backup pair. I normally wear contacts. I thought you knew that?”

 

She watched as his eyes widened in concern and his right hand trembled. She had observed that it was always only ever the right hand that shook when he thought about Kristen. She'd seen it at the wine shop and during their first date. It made her wonder if it was _that_ hand specifically that had been used to strangle poor Ms. Kristen.

 

“Something wrong?” she watched him steadily collapse and hoped that she could bring him back from this, “Edward, what is it?” she reached out to take his trembling hand into her own, “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

 

He hastily pulled his hand away from her, “Excuse me,” he stood and quickly made his way toward the bathroom and locked the door.

 

Isabella wrapped her silk robe around her lithe form and quietly made her way to the door. She could hear him speaking to himself and pressed her ear against the wood.

 

“I remember you _loved_ that style on me.”

 

Isabella pulled away from the door at the sound of the voice. It didn't sound like Edward at all. It was sultry and higher pitched. She heard him gasp and she leaned in again to listen.

 

“Oh, dear,” Edward cried.

 

“I haven't upset you, have I, Ed?” there came that voice again. It was still Edward... only wrong. He- rather, _she_ \- giggled, “I would've thought that you would've been used to seeing people in mirrors.”

 

Oh, her poor Edward! If she had known that seeing her in those glasses would have affected his psyche in such a way, she would never have done it.

 

“You're just in my head.”

 

“Like _that_ makes a difference. But honestly, besides the fact that she looks _just like me,_ you went from someone who files papers in a police station to someone file files books in a library. Not super original.”

 

Isabella seethed. Even though she knew this wasn't the real Kristen Kringle and only an illusion playing out in her dear Edward's mind, she still felt an intense hatred crawl over her. She was her _own_ person. They were _nothing_ alike. And, as if bonded by telepathy, Edward spoke again.

 

“You and Isabella are...” he paused, “...you're somewhat different.”

 

“Well... I'm _dead._ And she's alive. But how long will that last? Until you...”

 

There was another pause and then she could hear a strangled sort of sound. Like Edward was suddenly unable to breathe. She considered knocking on the door but she stopped just short when she heart him shout.

 

“I would _never_ hurt Isabella!”

 

“Bet you would've said the same thing about me. Face it, Ed, you're a killer. It's only a matter of time before-”

 

She heard a clatter and Edward's rapid breathing. The voices seem to have stopped for now. She took the glasses off of her face and placed them on a shelf out of sight. She didn't want to scare him further.

 

“Edward?” she rapped at the door.

 

“Just a second,” he said. She could hear the faucet turn on and the splashing of water.

 

When he emerged from the bathroom, he couldn't look at her.

 

“You know you can talk to me if something is upsetting you.”

 

“I'm just...” he fidgeted, “I'm not feeling like myself. I think it would be best if I went back to the Mayor's mansion. Cleared my head.”

 

“Oh,” she frowned, “I had hoped that we could spend more time together before I left for my conference.”

 

Edward continued to look at the floor, “We'll have plenty of time to talk after you get back,” he stepped passed her and then, as an afterthought, gave her a quick peck on the cheek before leaving.

 

She resisted the urge to smash the glasses. Those infernal things had completely ruined the rest of her day.

 

Hours later, there was a knock at her door. Just based on the shadow through the frosted glass, she knew the identity of the fiend on the other side.

 

“Mayor Cobblepot?” she pretended to be surprised.

 

“Hello, Isabella,” he stood there, smug as ever and drenched in a tacky black and gold suit, “May I?”

 

“Um... of course,” she stood aside and gestured for him to come in.

 

“Going somewhere?” he asked, pointing at her suitcase.

 

“Just for a couple of nights,” she told him, “But, I was hoping to talk to Ed before I left. Um, I tried calling him. Is he okay?”

 

“Hmm... yes,” the man shifted on the balls of his feet and she delighted in the fact that she could still make him sway a little, “How shall I put this?” he paused, “It's over.”

 

“Excuse me?” she blinked in genuine confusion. Surely she and Edward were bonded much too strongly to simply be _over._

 

“He is not going to see you anymore. Do not try to contact him. That door is closed. Have a nice life.”

 

She gasped, suddenly unable to cope with her heartbreak. She felt sick to her stomach.

 

“Oh my,” she fell backwards onto her chair.

 

“It is a shock,” Mayor Cobblepot continued to twist the knife, “But, besides your _odd_ resemblance to his ex and a certain facility for riddles... compulsion for order... what is it that you two really have in common?”

 

She didn't know how to answer him without giving herself away. So instead she allowed him to continue his thorough smashing of her heart.

 

“Edward is a person of exceptional intelligence and imagination. He deserves to be appreciated by someone on his own level.”

 

She shook her head. This man knew nothing about her and what she was truly capable of. Nor did he notice the strings puppeting him and the rest of Gotham. The Court of Owls- the closest thing she had to a family besides Edward- were the true masters. He was a simple marionette. And a poorly made one at that.

 

“And you, my dear, are simply not. Best to end things now.”

 

“You're right. I don't deserve him.”

 

“Glad we agree. Bye-”

 

“-But I'm not gonna let him go,” she interrupted his escape and rose back to her full height to tower over him, “He loves me. And I love him. Do you know how rare that is, Mr. Mayor?”

 

Her heart sank as she desperately tried to hold onto the happiness she felt every time Edward smiled at her. Surely Kathryn knew that this would be the outcome. But why would she sabotage their plan and the tender love blossoming between them? Unless...

 

“Of course you do. Because you love him too. I can see it,” she took a step closer, “I'm not even jealous.”

 

“I-I don't think that you understand-”

 

“It was my glasses this morning. They reminded him of Ms. Kringle,” she proudly interrupted, “He's afraid he's going to hurt me like he hurt her.”

 

The Mayor stepped forward, poking his sharp nose into her space in an attempt to intimidate her, “Listen to me, you _little idiot_... I am telling you _one last time._ Let. Ed. Go.”

 

“No,” she snarled, “I will write to him. I will make him understand he has nothing to fear. I am _not_ gonna let him go.”

 

“Very well,” he sharply inhaled, “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

 

Oswald Cobblepot was the obstacle. She saw now just how dangerous he was to the story she was writing for herself. The Court of Owls must have anticipated that and gifted her the challenge. Oswald Cobblepot was the other love interest. Isabella could see it as clear as day- from _both_ of them. Her Edward would have surely fallen into the other man's arms if she hadn't been there to catch him first.

 

She would have to be clever. The Mayor felt threatened by her and there was no doubt in her mind that she would be apprehended on the steps of City Hall. Luckily for her, she had spent most of her off time watching Edward from afar and knew which secretaries were closest to him. All she needed to do was place the letter in their hands.

 

After that point, all that was left to do was wait.

 

Kristen Kringle was weak. She fell in love with brutes and thought she could change them. They would beat her and bruise her and she was probably the type to say _It was only once_ or _He does it because he loves me._

 

But not Isabella.

 

Isabella was better than her in _every_ way. She was smarter and- most importantly- she _understood_ Edward. She saw him as Kristen had been unable to. She hadn't even given him the chance to change! And, even then, what was there _to_ change? He had risked everything for her! He had murdered her tormentor, dragged his mangled corpse into his place of work, and cleverly disposed of him. The only records that the city had on the fate of Officer Thomas Dougherty were lifted directly from Edward's heartbreaking confession. Kristen _betrayed_ him. She believed he was a monster when he was the one who had killed the monsters.

 

Edward had only resigned himself to being a monster himself because he'd fallen into the clutches of the dastardly Penguin. Isabella could fix him. She could keep him on the right track. They could have the life he always wanted. Isabella wanted it to. The Professor had already proven to be a genius and he was sympathetic towards her. She was certain that she could explain how much she deeply cared for and loved Edward Nygma and he would go out of his way to cure her of her illness.

 

She heard her front door open.

 

“Isabella?” Edward slowly entered the darkened apartment. The green light from the neon sign across the street bathed the room in a delicious emerald that she knew was his favorite color, “Isabella, I got your note.”

 

She looked at herself in the mirror and adjusted her collar.

 

“I thought you needed to leave for your conference?”

 

“I can be late, Edward,” she called out from the bathroom and applied her lipstick, “This is more important.”

 

“Oswa...” he stammered, that disgusting name was caught in his throat, “Oswald... the mayor, he informed me of your position, um... but, believe me, I-I think our breaking up is for the best.”

 

“No, Edward. It's not,” she told him, keeping herself out of sight until the reveal, “I understand your fear. It comes from a place of love. I know you won't hurt me,” she stepped out of the bathroom, “You never could.”

 

“I don't think that you...” he looked up at her. Her hair was back to her natural red. The outfit she'd managed to piece together from an old photograph she found in Ed's file resembled one worn by Ms. Kringle. He held his hands up, “Oh my... Kristen?”

 

“I found old photos in newspapers. You have to-”

 

“-I need to leave _now_ ,” he turned suddenly to run out the door but she caught him by the arm and spun him around to face her.

 

“No no no no no! Look at me,” she grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him, “Look at me!”

 

His fear was a small price to pay for the outcome she was guaranteed.

 

“You don't know what you're doing,” he clenched his eyes closed.

 

She couldn't _stand_ how cowardly he was being. She wasn't going to make any progress if he didn't look her in the eye. Without another thought, she slapped him.

 

“I am forcing you to face your fear,” she grabbed his face and held him still, “You won't hurt me. Even when I look like this.”

 

He closed his eyes again. She shook him.

 

“Edward!”

 

He inhaled sharply and then steadily opened his eyes at her insistence.

 

“Edward...” she cooed, grazing his sharp cheekbone with the pad of her thumb and waited for him to calm down. His breathing was heavy and labored.

 

She reached down and wrapped her fingers firmly around his wrist on his right hand. He looked down, curious at first, and then fear ignited in him as she brought it closer to her neck.

 

She felt his grasp tighten around her throat in macabre familiarity. But the sound of her voice soothed him. In a passionate lunge, he claimed her mouth with his own. She'd grown far more confident in kissing him. Their tongues intertwined and she relished the amount of control she had over him. Her weapon was Kristen's face but the fatal blow was _herself_. Was her mind and wit and boundless love.

 

Oswald Cobblepot was insignificant compared to her and together she and Edward would tear him limb from limb and claim this city for themselves.

 

...Or, at least, that's how it would have happened had her story ended the way she had intended.

 

The last thing she remembered seeing as an oppressive white light. Then blackness.

 

She awoke several days or possibly even _weeks_ later. She couldn't be certain. Time meant nothing and she was missing a significant amount of it. Her vision was spotted and she felt like she couldn't breathe. Like she was instead floating in some unnamed fluid. She focused on the vision in front of her.

 

It was her reflection... Only it wasn't? She looked exactly as she had last remembered- red hair, glasses, and a collared dress. The figure in the mirror applied a heavy layer of crimson lipstick before clicking her tongue and smiling. Satisfied.

 

Was this how Kristen felt? Trapped in the mind of a puppet wearing her skin? She remembered how the Professor had once told her how Kristen's brain had been mostly decomposed and so, if she were conscious, she wasn't cognizant. Instead in a constant state of floating in-between and mercifully unawares of any cruel torment or harrowing memories. Isabella was not so lucky.

 

The woman walked through the ruins of a charred building towards a figure near the center. Her heels clicking and echoing off of the blackened tile.

 

Samuel Lark, the once-great assassin of Carmine “The Roman” Falcone, was nothing more than a pathetic old man now. He'd been easily subdued, beaten, and now he was tied to a chair.

 

“Don't hurt the boy,” the man pleaded.

 

“No can do, Mr. Lark,” the cruel woman smiled, “The boy is as good as dead. But first...” she pulled out her knife and trailed it across her bottom lip, “I'm going to have a little fun with an old boyfriend of mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isabell-UGH
> 
> Also... I think I might have accidentally made Isabella a clone of Ed with Kristen's face. Not intentional but that makes everything so much creepier and I'm kinda here for it. New headcanon. Happy little accident XD

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! This fic is going to take me a while to write.
> 
> I might honestly break it up into "seasons" just to make it a little easier for me to write.
> 
> I DO plan on posting Martin's letters as well as the letters that Ed and Os are going to send one another in a separate story in this series.
> 
> Let me know what you all think in the comments! I try and respond to all of them as best I can :D


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